Fortnight
by AliasPseudo
Summary: Someone shows up at Wufei's door in the middle of the night. Can he help the others through a crisis, or will he only make things worse? Post EW, m/m, some violence.
1. Deluge

**Fortnight**

**Ch 01 – Deluge**

by APs

**Betas** – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (Who are both awesome!)

**A/N** – Alright, so here's a new story I've been hording for a long time now. It started as a character exercise that rebelled and decided it wanted to be a real story. I wanted it finished before posting, but it's been over six months and five chapters now, so I'm getting antsy. As the title suggests, the chapters are set two weeks apart and that's how I'll be uploading (which should also give me time to finish this, so there won't be delays later on).

Read and enjoy! Reviews are loved, too!

* * *

If it were not for guests all houses would be graves.

~Kahlil Gibran

* * *

Chang Wufei stared into the darkness above his bed and listened to the rain. The storm had rolled in vaguely before midnight and had been pouring forth for at least four hours with no signs of stopping anytime soon. It was one of those storms that leeched into dry places in its persistence to cleanse the world. Between the dissonance of thunder and the frantic staccato of rain, Wufei found an entrancing calm that was almost as pleasing as actual sleep. True, it had been a while since he'd managed a complete night's sleep, but he didn't feel the storm should be spited for his problems.

He had complained incessantly while living in the Preventer's barracks, whether about the lack of privacy or general disorder, but he had always slept well. It came down to the presence of others he trusted. During the war, he had conditioned himself for survival's sake to sleep no more than two hours when alone. Now that he wasn't perpetually exhausted, that internal alarm had taken the form of hideous nightmares. It was frustrating as hell.

With a sigh, he tossed the covers to one side, slipped out of bed and into a pair of silk pants. His small house sprawled about him in midnight blues and myriad greys. He made it down the hall, through his living room and into his kitchen without lights or incident. Going through motions as familiar as his morning exercises, he set water to boil for tea. He was waiting, trying to decide on a type, when a faint knock sounded on his door.

Frowning, he padded back into the living room. No one came to his house without phoning ahead and certainly not at this hour. Staring at the door, he wondered if he'd imagined it or if the storm was just tossing clutter around. After all, he had a perfectly good doorbell. When the soft rapping started again, he leapt forward, rant brewing for whoever was foolish enough to mistake his door for somewhere to knock at such an hour.

The door flew open between beats, leaving the person on the other side to blink large violet eyes at the scowling Chinese man, "Maxwell."

"Wufei," the American seemed genuinely surprised to see him.

"Were you expecting someone else to be answering my door?" There was bite to his words, but nothing excessive.

"I wasn't expecting-" Duo fumbled the thought and let it go, biting his lip. Wufei frowned and actually looked at him. The guy was drenched, utterly soaked, which was no mean feat considering he was dressed in at least three layers. The waterproofed duffle strapped to his back was shedding rivulets down his neck and errant chestnut locks from a haphazard braid clumped about his face. Noticing the silence stretching ever longer, Duo took a step back, "I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry for waking you."

Wufei snorted, clearing the doorway, "Get inside before you freeze to death."

Duo hesitated, but stepped inside, letting the door swing closed behind him. He stood in the foyer of the dark house like a child stands in the doorway of a cathedral. Uncertain violet eyes met Wufei's cool evaluation and waited for instruction.

"Should I even ask?" Wufei was answered with a grin. He sighed, "Fine, how wet are you?"

"To the bone," Duo smirked back.

Wufei rolled his eyes, "Leave the shoes there. The bathroom is the third on the left. I'll make you some tea."

"Do you have coffee?" Duo countered as he struggled out of his boots.

Wufei shot a warning glance his way, "It's four in the morning."

"Tea it is," Duo cheered, forced and hollow, beating a hasty retreat toward the bathroom, but stopped just short, "Uh, Wufei?"

He turned back from the kitchen doorway, "Yes, Maxwell?"

"You're not wearing a shirt. Just so you know," he informed as the door swung closed.

Wufei blinked, relieved that the other ex-pilot couldn't see the flush mounting in his face. He stalked down the hall to his room, throwing on a tank top and an unbuttoned over shirt, just for good measure. He grabbed a hair tie from his dresser and raked his fingers through his hair, gathering it into a sloppy tail. Thankfully, light flooded from under the door and the shower was running when he passed the bathroom on his way back to the kitchen.

The kettle sang out not long afterward and he pour out his pot, letting it steep while he searched for something to offer his guest. He cut up some fruit, having decided against anything heavier, and poured a small cup of tea for himself. Breathing in steam, he sipped slowly savoring it equally as much as the matched sounds of shower and rain. Half a pot later, he was beginning to worry. Setting his cup down, he went to the bathroom door. The light was still on, the shower still running, but he couldn't hear any movement.

"Maxwell?" he called through the door. Nothing. He frowned, "Maxwell!"

The silence persisted and Wufei felt his stomach attempt to fall out, as though gravity had suddenly stopped working. Growling at his sudden fear, he threw the door open and barged in. The room was full of steam, but noticeably lacking one braided ex-pilot. The shower curtain was drawn. Fear clawed at him with new desperation and he nearly tore the curtain from the rod. And there was Duo. Not naked and bleeding or unconscious, as Wufei's fear had theorized, but somehow, just as shocking. He huddled, fully clothed, in the back of the tub, knees drawn to his chest and forehead resting on them as water coursed over him.

Wufei reached to touch him, but hit water first and cringed. The shower had gone ice cold. Grinding his teeth, he lunged for the fixture, cutting off the frigid current.

Finally, Duo glanced upward, bangs dripping in his face, "Wufei?"

The Chinese man fixed him with a careful eye, "Are you drunk?"

Duo barked a laugh, "No."

"Are you trying to make yourself sick?"

"No, I- uh," Duo sniffed, "I was just trying to get warm."

Wufei glared at him. The man was shivering visibly. Wufei's tone left no room for argument, "Strip."

Duo's eye went wide as his head jerked the rest of the way up. His mouth opened, then shut. That's about when he registered the look of horror the Chinese man was giving him. Wufei sat on the side of the tub and reached for Duo. The American flinched back, but a single flash of onyx eyes ended that quickly. With hands Duo considered altogether too gentle, Wufei caught his chin and brushed away his bangs.

"My God, Maxwell," Wufei tried to shout, but there was just not enough force to push it beyond a whisper. Violet eyes were elsewhere as he inspected the swollen cheek and smashed nose, both already starting to turn dark in the painfully bright bathroom light. It was nothing compared to wounds they had suffered during the war, but this wasn't wartime and Duo took impeccable care of himself, mostly because he had someone who cared. Heero cared a great deal.

"It's nothing," he growled, wrenching his chin from Wufei's grasp.

Wufei watched him for a long time, stunned, "He hit you?"

"Hadn't noticed," Duo's face was back behind his knees, muffling his voice.

It took a while to process things. Eventually, he slowed his breathing, reaching for a towel and Duo's duffle. He kept his voice even, "You need to get out of those clothes. Do you have clean things, or should I go get something?"

"I can dress myself," Duo mumbled, eye roll present and accounted for in tone.

"All evidence to the contrary," Wufei astutely pointed out.

"Wufei," Duo growled. He set his jaw, then sighed and lifted his head, "Please."

Wufei gauged him cautiously, but nodded, "If you are not out in ten minutes, I am coming back."

Duo graced him with a half shrug, which Wufei assumed meant fair enough, before he made it out the door. In the hall, the thermostat got set higher in an attempt to banish the damp chill brought by the storm. Wufei grabbed a blanket from the back of his couch as he went to start another pot of tea. Then, he leaned in the kitchen doorway to stake out the bathroom, keeping time in his head. Eight minutes and thirty seven seconds later, the American emerged in a loose white t-shirt and light grey pajama pants. It was the most washed out Wufei had ever seen Duo Maxwell.

"Happy?" Duo did a complete turn, showing he hadn't screwed up. His wrist was sporting another large bruise and his braid was quickly disintegrating. Wufei grunted and tossed the blanket at Duo's head. "Hey!"

Wufei turned toward the kitchen, "Wrap up and come get some tea."

Duo followed, grumbling under his breath and perching on a stool at the butcher's block kitchen island. He took one of the slightly browned slices of pear and nibbled absently as Wufei poured out a second cup of tea. The black haired man set the cup down and slid it toward Duo, then seated himself, watching his friend. Duo readjusted the blanket to free his hands and picked up the steaming cup. Warmth spread up his arms. He took a whiff of steam, which wasn't too bad, kind of floral with a twinge of sweetness, so he sipped. It tasted earthy and herbish, but the aftertaste was rich and fruity. He blinked; that was unexpected.

"This isn't bad."

Wufei took another sip, "I know."

Duo savored the aftertaste, "I always pegged you for a strait green tea guy."

"You pegged wrong," Wufei smirked dryly. He looked into his cup, "Would you like me to fix your nose?"

"No," Duo leaned heavily against the counter, eyes studying the floor, "Leave it for the bastard." He took a gulp of the hot tea, as if the words had tasted as bitter as they had sounded.

Wufei took the opening, "What happened?"

Duo glared and flippantly gestured toward his mangled face, "What do you think?"

"I think," Wufei started slowly, giving his thoughts time to properly order themselves, "that even if you can't subdue Yuy, you at least know enough to block, and you are certainly fast enough to dodge."

Duo brandished his wrist with hot flippancy, "I blocked the third, dodged the rest. The first two were…"

Wufei took a guess, "You let him."

"I never really thought he'd do it," Duo admitted lowly. Wufei backed off; fresh wounds need stitches not scalpels. The rain filled in for a while.

When his cup was empty, Wufei stood, "We should ice that, if you're warm enough now."

"Yeah, sure," Duo was elsewhere, thoughts drifting like clouds. Wufei poured himself more tea and stopped at the freezer for an icepack. He wrapped it in a dishtowel before handing it to Duo, who gingerly pressed it against his cheek with an absent little sigh. "The fucked part is I know he loves me."

Wufei wasn't surprised by Duo's continuation. Silence had never been the man's friend. Wufei was absolutely certain Duo would willingly pluck out his eyes to live the rest of his life in utter darkness rather than live in silence. For his part, Wufei nodded and sipped at his tea.

"I just don't get all the goddamned fighting," Duo shifted irritably.

Wufei had to admit that Duo's relationship with Heero had always been tumultuous. They got into deafening fights everywhere they went and weren't exactly quiet, or gentle, about 'making up'. They had always been extremely passionate.

Duo drank, "Trowa and Quatre don't have that problem."

Trowa and Quatre were a diametric complement of Heero and Duo. They were always a unified front of silent strength and calming confidence. They fought, but their fights could pass in a glance and were certainly never a public affair. If Heero and Duo had passion, then Quatre and Trowa had devotion, quietly tender and tenacious. They would rather fight _for_ the other than against him.

"What the hell is wrong with us?" The American disgustedly flipped the icepack.

Wufei set down his teacup gently, "You frustrate him." Violet eyes gaped at him in horror. It sounded like Wufei was laying the entire thing at his feet, but the man held up a hand to show he wasn't finished, it had been a hook. Who said the Chinese bastard didn't have a flare for the dramatic? "He is direct, you slip sideways. He is simple, you are complex. You push each other and he just happens to have a lower threshold, not to mention a conditioned hair trigger."

Duo glared at him, "And you never thought to tell us this, oh wise one?"

"If oil and water knew they were oil and water they still wouldn't mix."

A dangerous smirk worked its way onto Duo's face, "So we're oil and water now, are we? We were just never going to work, that it?"

"Yin and Yang still make a circle," Wufei shrugged.

Duo blinked back in bemusement, finishing the dregs of his tepid tea. Wufei went about getting him more unasked and set it beside him.

Wufei didn't sit back down, but leaned against the countertop, "Are you planning on returning to him?"

"No," Duo spat, then sighed, "…Maybe. I don't know. I used to shoot people that sucker punched me."

"Best wishes," Wufei snorted. Maxwell versus Yuy with weapons was not a bet anyone would win. Neither brought up the war and the times Duo had been coldcocked. The American understood taking a blow from a friend with cause, or a provoked enemy, but never from a lover in anger. That was different.

Duo rolled his eyes, "Why do you think I left? I'm pretty damn sure at least one of us would have ended up dead tonight."

"Better you left, then," Wufei agreed blandly. "So, did you not wish to wake up Winner and Barton?"

"Please," Duo laughed, "Quatre would have fawned and lectured while Trowa slunk off to find Heero. Besides, that's the first place he'd check."

Wufei nodded, conceding the arguments. Quatre didn't believe in 'distance' and certainly didn't understand the concept of indirect confrontation in relationships. Trowa was a Yuy sympathizer. There probably would have been blood. "You couldn't have called?"

Duo smiled sheepishly, "Sorry. I had to ditch my mobile and he's probably got flags on everyone's home feeds."

Wufei blinked. He was unsure whether to be more unsurprised at Heero's paranoia, or Duo's simple acceptance of it.

"Honestly," Duo chuckled, "Yours is the last place he'd expect me to go." For some reason, the others had made the assumption that Duo and Wufei simply did not like each other. Truth was, nearly suffocating with someone told you a lot about them. They recognized and acknowledged each other's facades. Wufei knew the bitter cynic behind the deadly smiles and flippant gallows humor just as Duo knew the quiet scholar behind the enraged posturing and self depreciative insults. They hadn't fostered a friendship, per say, but they understood each other. If Duo laughed at Wufei and Wufei insulted him from time to time, it wasn't out of any animosity. During the war, it hadn't mattered. After the war, neither had ever felt the need to correct the others' misconception.

Wufei eyed Duo with sudden suspicion, "What if I hadn't answered?"

Duo looked away and shrugged, but Wufei wasn't fooled. Duo would have bolted. It was the only sure way to vex the 'Perfect Soldier'. Wufei was suddenly chilled, like a bullet had breezed past his cheek. An ex-Gundam Pilot off the grid and running dark constituted an unacceptable risk to Preventers.

Duo lifted an eyebrow, "Man, someone just walk across your grave, or what?"

"Not mine," Wufei muttered into his tea.

"What?"

"I called you an idiot."

"Right," Duo rolled his eyes. "So, can I crash on your couch?"

Wufei smirked, "The bed in the guest room is more comfortable, not to mention actually made for the purpose."

"I merit 'guest'?" Duo grinned, but not one of his maniac, dangerous ones. It was a worn and battered thing, almost ugly.

"If it were not for guests all houses would be graves."

Duo chuckled, reached for his cooled cup of tea and took a swig, "Don't think you'll get the same effect by inviting in death?"

Wufei snorted. Outside, the world should have been waking up to a rising sun, but the deluge kept everything shrouded in brooding greyscale. He couldn't help but deem it appropriate. He finished his tea, rinsed his cup in the sink, and started toward his room, "I have to go to work."

"At six?" Duo seemed unconvinced.

Wufei paused. He had hoped the other wouldn't call him on it. When he couldn't sleep, which had been often enough lately, Wufei had gotten into the habit of heading into the office early to use the gym for his morning exercises. He uncomfortably shifted his shoulders, "Some idiot decided to knock on my door at four in the morning."

"Wufei," Duo's gruff voice was quiet. Wufei glanced back at the American, swathed in his blanket and clutching a cup of tea. "Thanks, man."

"Good night, Maxwell," the Chinese man scoffed and continued on his way.

Duo smirked, taking another drink, "Good morning, Wufei."

* * *

Chang Wufei, the mighty and feared Preventer, was doing paperwork. In order to keep Preventers a small organization and to allot funding toward important things like fuel, munitions, etc., agents not on missions were required to cover multiple duties, including research and office work. There was always something worth doing. Honestly, Wufei didn't mind. Duty was duty and service, service. The fact that he was generally irritable at the office was completely unrelated. Of course, he was not going to correct anyone who thought otherwise, as long as it kept most people away.

Sally Po was not most people, "Hey, Wufei."

He turned toward her and inclined his head, "Po."

"We missed training this morning," she smirked. They had gotten into the routine of sparring before work. It had taken Sally the better part of her persistence to bring the young master around to the idea, but in the end it benefited them both. Sally gained valuable knowledge and Wufei profited by having someone to teach, even if it was a woman.

Wufei nodded. It wasn't uncommon and he didn't feel like telling her it was because he'd been and gone by the time she'd gotten there. The woman was driven and might have seen it as a challenge.

Sally smiled, teasing her bottom lip with her teeth, "Strong, silent today, then?"

Sally's flirting was lost when Quatre, shadowed casually by Trowa, caught Wufei's attention. Realizing the acknowledgment of his presence, the blonde smiled, "Don't let me interrupt."

"Don't worry, Quatre," Sally chuckled, "It wasn't important, really."

"Ah," the blonde articulated delicately. He turned to Wufei, trying to convey that what he had to discuss was in fact important. Wufei narrowed his stare, considering it shameful to turn his partner away. The two had different views on the uses of formality. Where Quatre fell into it to hide discomfort, provide camouflage, and assuage offense, Wufei considered it a sign of respect, an honorable personal code of conduct. It was a distinction Wufei had noted on several occasions. "It's good to see you, Wufei."

"Winner. Barton," Wufei greeted, cool and strait backed. Trowa nodded back, arms crossed. His stance said clearly this was not his idea. He did not wish to be here. Apparently, when Quatre said jump…

The blonde stalled, "It's been too long. We should really make plans to catch up."

"What do you want?" Wufei cut through, putting down his pen. Trowa moved a half step closer. Of course, he'd come to protect his lover. Dissuading Quatre was sometimes like attempting to defang a dragon, useless and generally leaving you worse for wear. The taller man accepted that and opted to minimize fall out instead. Wufei folded his hands in plain view on the table, no harm intended.

Quatre's polite smile slipped and he sighed, "We were wondering if you had happened to have seen Duo, lately."

"I believe he and Yuy both took personal days today," Wufei replied coolly.

"They did," Trowa confirmed as though that should be the end of it. The two worked together in the intelligence branch, which, one supposed, fit well. Quatre was brilliant, but not wise. Trowa was wise, but formally uneducated. Even in that, they complimented each other.

Quatre shot his partner a small frown, "Heero called in this morning for both of them, but he seemed… agitated. He didn't say anything had happened."

"But you worried anyway," Wufei assumed. A tired smile spread across Quatre's face. Wufei had noticed that the man didn't blush anymore, though when exactly it had happened, he was uncertain. Wufei allowed himself a small smile, "I am certain Maxwell is fine, wherever he may be."

Quatre took in the smile and the comment with equal consideration. Wheels were turning in that head of his, generating the light of knowledge from the thinnest of raw data and intuition. Quatre didn't know, but he knew Wufei probably knew and that was enough. The blonde smiled, relaxing considerably, "I'm sure you're right."

"Thank you," Trowa said softly, touching Quatre's shoulder as he turned like the other needed a reminder to leave. Quatre smiled brighter, nodded to Wufei, and left beside Trowa.

Wufei wondered at how little Heero must have actually told them. He probably wanted to find Duo first, perhaps attempt to fix things himself. Heero felt deeply, even if it was simply. Sometimes Wufei thought it was the very depth of his emotions that forced him to shut down. One would generally clutch at anything to keep from plummeting down a deep, dark well, even if one was dying of thirst.

"That was odd." Wufei started at Sally's voice. She was looking at him with an inquiring eyebrow quirked. Wufei raised both his in response. Sally knew, better than most, not to try to gossip with Wufei. Chang Wufei did not gossip. She rolled her eyes and sighed, but the fond smile on her face kept it playful, "Fine, fine. Anyway, since we missed this morning I was thinking we could make up for it later and go out for dinner after."

"I must decline." It had not taken long for the two of them to decide they would never work together. Wufei was traditional and Sally was progressive, to put it courteously. That hadn't stopped the woman from trying, or Wufei from taking her up on it from time to time. The fact that she would never marry him, never let herself become his responsibility, made her friendship that much more valuable to him. Not that anyone else knew that. "I have things that must be attended to at home."

"Ah," Sally weakly mimicked Quatre's delicacy over disappointment. She smiled, "Another time then."

Wufei nodded. Sally seemed like she wanted to say more, but thought better of it and left without another word. Wufei went back to his paperwork, finding the routine of it calming. Hours slipped by. It was still raining when he left to return home for the day. He was less than shocked to find one, Heero Yuy, standing in the rain beside his car, waiting for him.

They eyed each other through the rain for a long moment. Heero soaked was very much a different thing from Duo soaked. He was hunched defensively, hands shoved into pockets, as though he could intimidate the elements. Deep, piercing blue eyes burned in recognition of the dark Chinese man, who simply seemed to accept what water decided to fall on him.

"Yuy."

"Chang." Heero followed the lead given, which meant he was treading new social ground. He didn't correct his posture or soften his voice; formality was not ingrained or natural for him and he never wore it well. His eyes tried to convey something, flashing need and remorse, but Wufei waited to hear the words, only slightly cruel.

"How is he?" The question confirmed Wufei's suspicions. Someone had tipped him off and Wufei's money was on Trowa. Quatre would not have revealed his source.

"Battered." Again, slightly cruel, and Heero's eyes registered pained guilt. Good. He knew he was in the wrong.

"Where?" Heero grunted as though each word cost him dearly.

"Safe." Equal parts insult and reassurance, Wufei saw Heero mentally wince.

"I…" Heero trailed off in confusion and Wufei decided that was enough use of the high ground. Though effective, it was a disgraceful tactic with which to decimate a friend. The Mariemaia incident hadn't happened so long ago he'd forgotten his own mistakes, or who had helped him struggle through them.

Wufei sighed and sifted his weight, "Give him time. No one is going anywhere."

Heero nodded, but instantly seemed bolstered by the words. Duo wasn't running, wasn't alone. The man he loved was somewhere someone he trusted considered safe. Wufei was nothing if not a man of his word. The relief and hope in deep blue eyes was the sincerest gratitude Wufei had ever received from Heero.

The Chinese man broke eye contact, walking past him to his car door, both dismissive and trusting, "Go back to work, Yuy."

"Wufei…" The man turned back, beginning to hate his name being used in this fashion. Heero seemed to be struggling with something, either a defense or a message. Wufei narrowed a glance that clearly said he was neither judge nor messenger. Heero blinked, the first physical response he'd garnered thus far.

"Take care of yourself," Wufei tried again, gruff still, but softened with concern. Heero blinked a second time, face blank as though the idea had never occurred to him. Wufei thought about offering him a ride home, or maybe to Quatre's. Finally, the other man nodded in acknowledgement, or acceptance, or farewell, or all of them, and silently slipped away into the billowing sheets of water. Wufei watched after his receding shadow, listening to the patter of rain all around him.


	2. Mileu

**Fortnight**

**Ch 01 – Milieu**

by APs

**Betas** – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (Who are both awesome!)

**A/N – **Please read, enjoy, and review!

The fact that an opinion has been widely held is no evidence whatever that it is not utterly absurd.

--- Bertrand Russell

Duo Maxwell had been living in his house for two weeks and, if he was honest, Wufei was quite content with the arrangement. True, that probably had a lot to do with the restful nights of uninterrupted sleep he'd been enjoying, but there was more to it. When they weren't conversing amiably, Duo made all the noise of a passing spirit. He was considerate of Wufei's work schedule and morning grooming habits, always managing to be out from underfoot. Then there were all the small things he did around the house.

Dishes were done. Groceries were bought. Clothes were laundered. Windows were washed. Wufei's house had always been orderly, but Duo made it downright Stepfordian, yet it also came out oddly warmer, the small attentions lending the place a dynamic, used feeling. He even went so far as to do the yard work and cook meals, which were nothing special, but certainly edible. Duo demurred that it was the least a good guest could do, but Wufei knew better. Two weeks of personal leave, hiding out as though he was back in enemy territory, with nothing to do except heal and think, and the man was about ready to go out of his skull. Wufei used extra dishes when he cooked and filled his hamper every other day, even if half of it was clean. Neither of them said anything.

It was when he learned to brew tea and rewired the house's security for the eighth day strait that Wufei finally decided it was time to do something, perhaps, drastic. He and Sally stood in Une's office, last meeting of the day. The Director was watching them with the care and interest one would an untested science experiment. Sally had her little uncertain frown fidgeting over her lips.

Finally, Wufei simply plunged forward, "I would like to request a temporary partner transfer."

Both women choked a little. Such things were not unheard of, but usually only happened when one of the partners had gravely offended the other. Sally had brought Wufei into the fold; they had always worked well together and were a senior field team. It would not go unnoticed. Une raised an eyebrow, "May I ask why?"

"A personal issue," Wufei crisply articulated.

"Which is?" Une pushed when she realized that was all he planned to say.

"Miss Po has been making advances toward me which I find inappropriate and have made me uncomfortable in her company," Wufei explained calmly.

Sally balked, but Une was still in control of the situation, "That's a rather lenient request for such a serious claim."

"She has not crossed any lines and I do not wish anything to be put on record, as it is entirely my personal, cultural views," Wufei let a placating hand rise. "As such I would also like to request that Miss Po be reassigned to Agent Yuy. They have always worked well together in the past and have never exhibited interpersonal issues."

"Agent Yuy's partner has been on personal leave for two weeks and I was under the impression that Agent Maxwell and yourself were not on good terms," Une informed the room in general, starting to catch the drift. Sally glanced between the two.

"I have no quarrel with Maxwell." Meaning one of them had a quarrel with someone else. "In fact, I am certain he will lodge no complaint upon his return."

Une was an intelligent woman. Sally's passes at Wufei were something of an office tradition and the shadow of things that had resolved themselves long ago. The fact that Wufei was taking personal responsibility for the personnel shuffle was enough for her to realize the real reason was sensitive and not his to tell. Finally, Une nodded, "Granted. Consider it official beginning tomorrow. Good night, Agents."

The two nodded to their superior and withdrew. They headed back toward their offices in palpable silence. The second the heavy stairwell door clicked closed behind them, Sally sighed.

Wufei halted, turned to face her and waited. A slap would not be out of line, or unexpected and Sally had never been one to need prompting. She only glared at him for long minutes, searching for something small yet unmistakable.

"The next time you decide to throw our partnership on the pyre," she growled, drawing out the 'r' and moving close enough for their noses to touch. She grabbed his collar and smashed their lips together, fierce and casually tender. And then she was gone, moving down the stairs and finishing her thought, "It had better be this sweet and you had better damn well tell me first."

He blinked after her, heard her snort 'jerk' before disappearing two floors below. The man leaned back against the banister and breathed, letting the tingle on his lips and tongue die slowly with fond thoughts of nights past. He would have married that woman in a heartbeat, even if, as she was fond of reminding him, what they had wasn't love. She said she could see it in his eyes, whatever that meant. She insisted on not ruining a mutually beneficial arrangement with formalities. Eventually, he'd stopped trying to explain respect and honor to her. She just kept laughing at him.

The soft click of the door sounded again and Wufei found soft emerald eyes watching him. Trowa was holding a steaming cup of coffee and waiting. Unlike the blankness Heero came by honestly through ignorance and confusion, Trowa's blank facade was carefully calculated, allowing him to react according to what people projected onto him. It was a tactic Wufei was familiar with and didn't particularly appreciate, even from the master himself. Certainly not from a friend. Wufei stared blandly at him, stubborn.

Trowa hid a smile behind a sip of coffee as he surrendered, making the first move, "Good evening, Wufei."

"Barton," Wufei acknowledged, softening despite knowing the taller man was laughing at him. They had played chess too many times not to know how the other operated.

"Headed home?" Trowa went to the top of the downward staircase and paused, an invitation. Wufei fell in beside him and they leisurely started down together.

"After I stop by my office," Wufei admitted. He glanced at the other's coffee, "Another late night in Intelligence?"

Trowa let a bone weary smile show, "Mission prep."

"Long term?" Wufei quirked an eyebrow at the taller man. Intelligence agents came in a few flavors. Some were connected, high or low; others were good with computers, patterns, or people. Trowa's flavor was distinctly undercover. That generally meant solo missions and long commitments. Quatre was his contact.

Emerald eyes studied air, his cup lingering by his lips, "Long enough."

So, this was one of _those_ conversations. Trowa had never asked anyone to watch after Quatre while he was away, at least never explicitly. Things may have been implied. The few times Wufei had been tapped, diners and activities may have just happened to be planned. It wasn't like he was spying or babysitting, more like making himself available. Quatre was his friend, after all, even if the blonde man didn't quite understand Wufei as well as he did the others.

"You're leaving tonight?"

"Gone," Trowa corrected. He was already on the clock. Plan A must have fallen through, Wufei realized, Heero and/or Duo.

"Then you should go," Wufei admonished lightly. He knew how much this meant to the willowy ex-pilot, "And put your mind at ease."

Trowa nodded, "Diner and a movie tonight at your place."

Wufei froze, surprise clear on his face. The other man stopped, puzzled. It had only been a simple warning. Quatre was planning to surprise Wufei. Quatre had gone to Wufei's house with old security codes. Odd in itself because they always informed each other when they were even considering switching them. Quatre would have to knock. Wufei's brain rallied admirably, "My house is a mess."

Trowa laughed, a rare enough sound, even now, rich and always slightly surprised by itself, "He wanted a less formal setting."

"So he chose to make me his host?" Wufei challenged in an exasperated growl. Trowa made a motion Wufei equated to a sympathetic shrug, even as that small taunting smile made its return. They reached the floor with Wufei's office and he turned aside.

Trowa continued casually downward, "Good night, Wufei."

"Barton." Wufei sighed, bypassing his office moving directly toward the lobby stairs and out to the parking lot. Quatre may already be knocking on his front door.

Wufei let out an explosive breathe he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he rounded the corner and saw his house. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd been expecting, but to his great relief as he guided his car into his garage, the house was still there and there were no extra vehicles on the street. He had time. Time to do what, he had no clue, but at least he had time to think about that now.

At the door, he put all the necessary information into the panel discreetly built into the wall beside his door. Heero had been the major designer of the system they all used, but they had each had a hand in its creation. Preventer's security was a pitiful joke by comparison. Honestly, Wufei did not normally use it when he was home. If someone decided to attempt to rob or assault him, in his home, then a security system was certainly the least of the fool's worries. Duo, however, relaxed more with it active.

"Welcome home, buddy," Duo greeted from the couch as Wufei stowed his shoes comfortably beside sturdy, old boots in the foyer. The braided man put aside the schematics he'd been reviewing and stretched, "What do you want for diner?"

"Winner is on his way over," Wufei notified him briefly. Duo took a moment to absorb it and Wufei watched him as he shrugged out of his standard issue jacket, "I can ask him to a restaurant, if you'd prefer."

"No," Duo finally sighed, letting a flippant little smile settle, "I can't hide forever. I completely forgot Trowa was leaving today."

So Duo had been plan A. Wufei barely had time to nod before a firm rapping sounded from the door behind him. He opened it to find Quatre, toting heavy looking bags and worrying, his natural state of being.

"Winner," Wufei greeted.

Quatre brightened, but only to polite levels, "Hello, Wufei. I hope this isn't too forward, but it's really been too long and I thought we could keep each other company tonight. I brought diner."

"But did you bring wine?" Duo laughed, slinging an arm over Wufei's shoulders to fit in the doorway.

Quatre jumped at the sudden appearance and Duo's nearly healed, yet stubbornly mangled face. All the blonde managed was, "Duo!"

"In the flesh," the man grinned. Even as he lounged against him, Wufei could feel Duo's tension, ready to break and run.

"What happened to your face?" Quatre was frowning, though he was far more relaxed now there was another person present.

Duo laughed again, a little sharp and a little bitter, "I blocked a fist with it."

Quatre blinked and glanced at Wufei, who was maintaining a strict neutrality he'd learned from years of being a fifth wheel. That told the blonde more than enough, though, as the Chinese man would never remain thus for anyone outside their group. Decisively, Wufei grabbed Quatre's burden and pushed it into Duo's chest, using the contact to maneuver himself and the other man out of the blonde's way. While Duo gaped at him over the bags, Quatre took the hint and stepped inside. Such matters were not for doorsteps and entryways. As the blonde slipped out of his loafers, Wufei shot Duo an appraising look.

The American rolled his eyes and grinned, "I'll go start diner."

Wufei nodded as he took Quatre's coat. Quatre stood in the living room in business casual and black socks, watching Wufei and trying to word his question correctly. Wufei sighed, "He's been here for two weeks."

Aquamarine eyes flashed, but the tone was kept polite, "Why didn't you tell us?"

"It is not your concern, Winner," though his voice was soft, Wufei still saw Quatre flinch. They both knew he wasn't trying to hurt Quatre's feelings, or make him uncomfortable, it just seemed to happen that way. It was common knowledge among them that Wufei considered them his clan, closer than brothers, yet his manner still managed to disquiet Quatre. Wufei had gone so far as to call him Quatre for an entire evening once, but it had only made things worse. The man was neither his significant other, nor his child, and referring to him so familiarly right in front of his lover had been unnatural and nearly indecent to Wufei's sensibilities. He had taken Trowa aside to explain and though he knew the taller man respected the cultural difference, he suspected he didn't fully understand. Wufei still remembered the first time he had spoken Meiran's name. He cherished that memory.

"You two coming to help, or what?" Duo smirked from the kitchen doorway.

Quatre was suddenly beaming as he padded toward the kitchen and Wufei found himself envying the American's odd ability to put others at ease. Where ever Duo was, he was in his milieu. Wufei's place in the world seemed to have died with his clan. He knew otherwise, of course. Both that Duo was never as comfortable as he seemed and that he, himself, had found a place of acceptance. That didn't stop him from feeling it, though, as he watched the other two bustling about his kitchen.

Duo was chopping vegetables, Quatre was at the stove, and they were prattling about this or that, small things neither of them really cared about. Wufei would grunt occasionally at some inane question. They both artfully omitted any references to the other's partner. Wufei found it fascinating, a verbal ballet.

"Hey, Wufei, what do think of--" Duo just stopped, testing spoon steaming in hand and violet eyes fixed over Wufei's shoulder. Quatre was wide-eyed. Finally, Wufei turned. Standing like a statue in the kitchen doorway was one, Heero Yuy.

"What the hell is this?" Heero was genuinely asking, completely confused.

"We're making diner," Duo informed him glibly. "Just what the hell are you doing here?"

Heero glared, "I knocked. When no one answered, I got worried."

"Worried equates to breaking and entering now?" Duo reasoned lightly, his own eyes narrowing dangerously. Quatre was not helping matters, looking guilt stricken by the stove. Wufei noted sourly that no one seemed capable of using his damned doorbell.

The glare darkened into a glower. It was still hard for Heero to express himself and being mocked did little to make it easier, whatever Duo may have thought. Heero held up a piece of paper he'd been holding, "I wanted to ask about this."

Duo laughed harshly, "Tell me you didn't track me down about paperwork, you asshole. I'll do it when I get back to work."

"With your new partner?" Heero snarled. Wufei could make out the personnel transfer notification in Heero's hand and gave himself a ruthless mental thrashing.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Duo let his brow furrow. He really didn't. Wufei had forgotten to tell him.

Heero, however, was not having it, "I've been reassigned as of tomorrow. You could have at least told me yourself."

Duo slammed both hands down on the island, contents of the spoon splattering, "I didn't do it! I didn't even know about it!"

"I did," Wufei cut in tersely. All eyes cut to him where he sat calmly. "I believe Yuy came to speak with me."

Heero's expression fell into blankness, glancing warily between Duo and Wufei. He nodded, but his eyes settled on Duo, cobalt flashing dangerously and he started forward. Now he'd found the man, he had things to say.

Wufei stood abruptly, "We can talk in the living room."

"Get out of my way, Wufei," Heero stated, colder than ice at being barred.

Wufei stood firm, watching him mildly, "You are in my home, uninvited. Any action you take against my guests is action taken against myself. Now, Heero Yuy, we can speak civilly in the living room, or you can leave."

Icy cobalt clashed against indifferent onyx. Heero was strung like a bow, ready to snap. Wufei was coolly serene. Heero stood head and shoulders above the Chinese man with forty pounds on him, easily. Of the pilots, Heero was undisputedly strongest, much as Duo was fastest. Yet, out of the lot, Wufei was the only serious martial artist. Wufei had seen Heero fight. He was deadly. Chang Wufei was not intimidated by Heero Yuy.

Heero drifted back to a blank stare, turned, and trudged into the other room. Wufei cast the barest of warning glances at the other two ex-pilots before following him. Heero was waiting and once Wufei stood beside him, brandished the paper in a silent question, arching a single eyebrow.

Wufei nodded, "I requested a _temporary_ transfer."

"Why?" Cobalt eyes screamed betrayal.

"Officially, Po was offending my cultural boundaries," Wufei offered with a faint smile. Heero wasn't amused, though he did seem to register that, on the record, this had nothing to do with him. "Unofficially, Duo needs to work, but not with you."

Heero was lost. Wufei had realized a couple years ago that when Duo was in turmoil, he had to do something to work through it. Physical exertion was synonymous with emotional purge for the man. For Heero, emotions were physically exhausting enough on their own.

Wufei sighed, "He'll be in the same building, Yuy. This will help."

Heero clenched his jaw and balled his fists, but nodded. It left Wufei awkwardly between preparing to block a punch and letting the man cry on his shoulder. Everything was running both hot and cold and neither liked it much. Wufei took the time to take stock of the man before him. Heero was pale with dark bags under his eyes, lending him a particularly ghoulish look he'd managed to outgrow since the war.

Frowning, Wufei went back to the kitchen doorway where he interrupted a quiet conference all its own, "Winner, could you make up two plates and see Yuy home?"

He had everyone's attention again, placid as ever. Quatre nodded and started the preparations. Heero's reaction was not so compliant.

"I don't need an escort," Heero asserted.

Wufei turned back to him, "If you won't take care of yourself, we'll see to it for you."

Heero glared, again, "I'm not--"

"Yuy," Wufei cut clear through the low threat, "You will leave and you will eat, then sleep, or I will personally see to it next time." There was another lapse in time where they evaluated each other, cold calculation. It always added up the same. Heero scowled. Wufei smirked fondly.

Then Quatre was there, carrying a bag and refitting his coat and shoes. He smiled at the two having a glaring match from the door, "Ready, Heero?"

Heero nodded and moved toward the door, Quatre moving on ahead and Wufei close behind him. Once Heero was across the threshold, he paused and fixed Wufei with a look the Chinese man couldn't quite pin down. Cobalt eyes flitted over Wufei's shoulder quickly, "Be careful, Wufei."

Wufei watched his two fellow ex-pilots drive away with a confused frown before closing the door. Be careful with what exactly? Did Heero not think he could take care of his partner? Lost in a downward thought spiral, Wufei nearly missed the darkly smirking figure leaning against his kitchen doorframe.

"Did you really just pick a fight with Heero Yuy and send him home like a spanked puppy?" Duo's grin was slightly malicious, the broken nose wasn't helping.

Wufei blinked, "No, and I believe he tried to pick the fight."

Duo cackled, not laughed, cackled. It was too mean and too harsh to be laughter. "Wufei Chang, champion of the weak and defenseless."

Wufei snorted, "Don't be an idiot. Yuy was angered due to my actions. It was only right that I explain."

"Yeah, well, Heero's not alone on that front, buddy," Duo smiled at him. Wufei had never been fond of Duo's cheeky smiles, they smacked of violence.

"You're going back to work," Wufei told the American bluntly.

"Maybe I don't want to," Duo half shrugged.

Wufei stared at him with that implacable calm and Duo's smile faltered, then failed. Duo wanted to go back, he practically ached for it. Being useless was something none of the ex-pilots could abide for very long.

Finally, Duo caved, "Alright, but what's all this about new partners?"

"I requested a temporary transfer," Wufei repeated.

Duo quirked an eyebrow, "Why would you do a thing like that? Sally's going to kill you when she finds out she's stuck with me, even temporarily."

"What makes you think you're with Po?"

For a moment they stood looking at each other in equal bewilderment. Duo smirked, "She's really going to kill you if you stuck her with Heero."

Wufei crossed his arms, "I happen to know they work quite well together."

"If you say so," Duo grunted, running his tongue over his teeth. "Living together, working together. Geez, people are going to start getting the wrong idea, man."

"The fact that an opinion has been widely held is no evidence whatever that it is not utterly absurd."

Duo gave him an odd little frown before sighing, "Yeah, I suppose. Just, next time you plan to do me a favor, ask."

Wufei nodded, "How would you like to learn formal martial arts?"

Duo cracked a suspicious grin, eyes narrowing, "Were you planning to teach me by randomly attacking me?"

"No," Wufei conceded, "but if that's the way you would prefer I can always try."

That got a laugh out of Duo, actually somewhat happy this time, "I don't think so, man."

"Then we can just leave early tomorrow morning," Wufei informed him with a soft smirk.

Duo seemed to weigh his options carefully, "Fine. Guess I'm headed to bed."

"You're not having diner?"

Duo waved an arm at him as he went toward the bedroom hallway, "I ate when we fixed the others' stuff. There's a plate waiting for you. Night, Wufei."

"Good night, Maxwell," Wufei grunted after the quickly retreating back and its swinging braid. He went to the kitchen to eat alone, which he realized felt strangely odd. As he picked at the pasta dish the others had worked at for so long, the silence seemed out of place. It was a meal that had been crafted to eat with friends and suddenly seemed very unappealing. He pushed the plate away with a quiet sigh. Duo had only been there two weeks and, if he was honest, Wufei had acclimated a little too well.

**Allora Gale** – Thank you. Here it is, hope you enjoyed.


	3. Poetical

**Fortnight  
Ch03 - Poetical**

by APs

**Betas** – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (Who are both awesome!)

**A/N** - So, a touch later than usual, but it is Wed. Of course, as soon as I graduated, I got sick. Oh well, more time to write.

REVIEWS are loved and cherished!

* * *

At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.

---Plato

* * *

Wufei watched as Duo walked away from the table, chestnut rope swaying. Languid. After two weeks of instruction, two weeks carefully considering the body motion of the other man, Wufei had finally decided that the word for it was languid. The American was lanky, his walk rangy as a tomcat, on edge while appearing for all the world as boneless, flowing.

Their morning exercises had been enlightening. The first time Sally had dropped Duo on his ass, the American had learned a harsh lesson about his speed and inertia. Wufei had learned a good deal about Duo's hand to hand combat skills, or lack there of, rather. Duo knew how to defend pretty well, but not solidly, haphazard at best. His attacks were fast, but lacking in power. He'd learned to fight on the street and against your average individual, Duo would certainly win. Against a trained fighter, in a strictly fair match, he would fair far less well. It hadn't taken long to convince him of that, either.

He'd come very far, very fast. No less than Wufei had expected from a fellow Gundam pilot. After a week, Duo's body had adjusted to the relatively foreign motions and extra use. He was narrow and incredibly wiry, a body forged in adversity, a fact echoed by the sheer amount of scar tissue Wufei had glimpsed in the locker room. Duo had more scars than Wufei had considered possible for someone their age, excluding perhaps Heero or Trowa.

A throat clearing brought the Chinese man back to the present. He turned from the languidly retreating form and toward the table's only other occupant, Quatre. Duo had excused himself suddenly and Wufei realized it probably had as much to do with avoiding his current position as it did with attempting to snag the bill from Quatre. Duo was notorious for dodging these types of things. Wufei didn't dodge.

The blonde was watching him with a curious little frown, "He's been living with you for a month now, hasn't he?"

"Yes," Wufei replied blandly.

Quatre shifted in his seat, falling back into awkward politeness, "I'm glad to see you both being so amiable, though I suppose he does not plan to stay much longer."

Wufei waited. That wasn't what Quatre had wanted to say, he could tell. A statement that obvious required no response, it was simply air.

Quatre sighed, "Heero won't tell me what happened. Has Duo… said anything?"

"Nothing I hadn't guessed," Wufei offered in earnest.

The blonde seemed surprised, "Aren't you concerned?"

Wufei shot him an admonishing frown, insulted, "Of course, but it is neither my relationship, nor my battle, and I have not been asked to intercede."

Quatre stared down into his coffee, more thoughtful than chastised, but Wufei couldn't help the frustration that swelled inside him anyway. He refused to handle the man like a child; Quatre was not made of glass. None of the others seemed to have this problem. Trowa's absence complicated things slightly. It both made the blonde more vulnerable and placed his wellbeing vaguely on Wufei. The Chinese man was considering an apology when Quatre nodded, almost to himself, and looked up, "Forgive me. I should have known better. I'm just…"

"They're my friends, also, Winner," Wufei offered sympathetically. Quatre's expression both softened and grew slightly darker. Wufei leapt at the chance to steer the subject to something he'd meant to discuss with the man anyway, "Why do I make you uncomfortable?"

"Pardon?" Quatre blinked at the abrupt conversational turn.

"Why do I make you uncomfortable?" Wufei repeated, impassive.

Rigidly formal now, Quatre coasted on his initial shock, "I don't know what you mean, Wufei."

Wufei watched the business man, unconvinced, while Quatre stared back, respectfully ignorant, to all appearances. The blonde did not share Duo's personal oath, Wufei's own honor code, or Heero's blatant disregard for dishonesty, though it was rare to find Quatre being insincere. Duo returned to the tense silence and Wufei didn't miss the relief in the smile Quatre flashed as a reply to the braided man's questioning glance.

"Well, we should be getting back," Duo cheered, mockingly overzealous. Quatre reached for his wallet as he and Wufei extricated themselves from the table, but Duo waved him off, "I got it, Q."

Quatre was abashed, "It was my turn, Duo."

"Hey, I like being able to brag about taking two rich, well bred guys to lunch," Duo shrugged, "Would you really let your pride rob me of that?"

Quatre was shocked for all of a second before nearly collapsing with laughter. It even got a tiny amused smile out of Wufei, after the all too necessary snort at the inappropriateness. Duo grinned at the Chinese man to show he hadn't missed that smile, small as it may have been, as Quatre composed himself. They left a sizable tip and walked the few blocks back to the office, Duo doing most of the talking.

The Preventer's offices hadn't changed much. There had been some rumors, few tenacious enough to last more than a couple days, and the junior agents had given them a little wider berth than usual, but things had settled quickly. Duo, of course, had helped, smoothing things over with persistent good humor. Wufei hadn't seen him try so hard since the war.

The day struggled its way to a close and Duo went to drop in on Quatre to say goodnight, as usual. Wufei closed his office and headed for the parking lot, where he'd wait. It had made sense for them to take one vehicle. Wufei opted for the elevator, which was odd for him, but between his two pupils and being smack in the middle of social turmoil, he was dead on his feet.

With an indulgent sigh, he leaned back into the wall for support and closed his eyes. He took a moment to breathe deep, to feel his heart beat and relax the ache of his body while the cables groaned, lowering him. It reminded him vaguely of the colony of his youth, being surrounded by technology, comforting in a dismal way. He waited until he heard the doors part before opening his eyes. Heero Yuy was staring at him.

Heero hadn't spoken to either of them since the night Trowa had left. Sally and Quatre were keeping close tabs on him, but he only spoke to them when absolutely necessary. Heero seemed to have lost his will to fight whatever had happened. His complacence in defeat was almost frightening, his silence even more so. Now he stood, staring hollowly at Wufei and it was the eeriest damned thing the Chinese man had ever experienced. There was simply nothing there.

The doors swished closed again without either of them having actually moved. Wufei was still staring, frowning now. Whatever had happened between his two friends, he had the distinct impression that Duo had gotten away with the lighter wounds. Heero's last words to him burned brightly in his brain once more. Be careful, indeed.

* * *

Pain. White hot pain blossomed in brilliant blinding plumes across his awareness. He ground his teeth, but only managed to choke, struggling for breath, too much liquid in his mouth, thick salty metallic, iron. Focus through the pain, move. Something was pinning him down, no, back against a chair, a harness, biting into his chest, shoulders. Focus. The pain was razor sharp, everything else hazy dull, a Gaussian blur. So easy to let go, let everything slip away.

That's when the fear hit. Eyes flew open, obscured by red liquid and black hair. A cockpit, his cockpit, Nataku's, with empty space flickering through the spider webbed and blood sprayed vid-screens. Not empty, the bones of his colony hanging like condemnation over his head. His mangled hands gripped controls, useless, unresponsive. Nataku was gone, drifting, no air cycling, cold starting to seep into her corpse.

His nerves were fire, insides ice, and there was so much blood. His blood. He was alone. He choked again. Couldn't move, breathe. He was drowning in his own blood, if he didn't freeze first. Alone. His eyes stung, tears fell. He couldn't stop them. He tried to scream, choked. Everything went dark. The pain didn't stop. The pain and fear and disgust and rage and every terrible emotion he'd ever tried to contain overtook him, ravaged him, left nothing.

He was going to die. Here. Broken. Alone…

"God damn it, Wufei! Wake up!"

Onyx eyes flew wide, his entire body jumped, arching upward, tingling electrically, and panting for all his lungs were worth. Long seconds passed as he registered his room, then the strong pair of arms pinning him to his thoroughly thrashed bed and finally the shocked violet eyes staring down at him. His skin was sticky with half dried sweat and he could feel tear tracks on his face, he was trembling. Despite them both wearing boxers, he had never felt more naked, skin against skin and weight on his chest. It was all he could do to look away from those violet eyes.

Duo removed himself and sat on the edge of the bed. Wufei fought valiantly to bring his body back under his control. He refused to curl into a fetal position, though that was all he wanted to do, to ball up and collapse into himself. After long, still moments, he managed to sit up, compromising with himself by leaning an elbow on a bent knee to run his hand over his face and through his disheveled hair.

"You alright?" Duo asked casually, eyes elsewhere.

"It was a dream, Maxwell," Wufei managed to sound gruff and derisive, though it was also pitifully weak, cracking in the middle.

"Seemed like a nightmare to me," Duo corrected softly, "Nasty one, too."

Wufei snorted feebly. He repressed the urge to curl up and die again with unnecessary force. That particular nightmare was common, though usually not quite that vivid. He couldn't even think about how bad he must have been thrashing or, worse, sobbing to bring Duo running. Disgust rose in his stomach.

"This happen a lot?" Duo plowed ahead, still on the edge of the bed, not completely turned toward him, giving the man distance.

"Less," Wufei admitted grudgingly. Short answers were good. Short answers meant not explaining that he'd died every night for three years, alone in this house.

Violet eyes finally landed on him, sincere if hesitant, "Want to talk about it?"

"No." It was equally sincere, even if slightly too quick to be true.

Duo looked away, hiding the action in a large, languorous stretch, arching his back, "We all get them, you know."

Wufei had figured as much, it was only logical after what they had all lived through, yet it did nothing to comfort him. He doubted the other's nightmares were as shameful and selfish as his own. Their rest must have been disturbed by the ghosts of those they had killed, or those they had lost. Their sleep troubled by the dissolution of the Peace and other things of honorable importance.

"I almost thought you'd gotten lucky and didn't have them," Duo continued spurred onward by the silence.

Wufei felt rather than heard a sigh escape his own lips, "Why wouldn't I? We all have our scars."

"I don't know. You never said anything and you are from a warrior clan," Duo shrugged halfheartedly. "If any of us knew how to deal, I just thought it'd be you."

Wufei frowned, gazing down at his hands lying in his lap, "My clan is gone, Maxwell. I am a mere echo of what once was."

"So all that about justice, strength, and honor was just pretty noise?" Duo was smirking, eyes closed and head tilted to one side. Wufei could practically hear the familiar expression, knew it well enough to not need the visual.

Onyx eyes scrutinized the other man's back, "Integrity is found in one's actions, but a man alone is a retched thing."

Violet eyes stole a dark glance over a pale, scarred shoulder, "We're all pretty retched."

"Then pity and anger get us nowhere," Wufei gently held the man's bitter gaze until Duo turned away once again. Vaguely, Wufei found himself wondering if the braided man had ever shown Heero the true depths of his cynicism. Perhaps that was part of what had happened between them. All the pain and distrust Duo hid under that jester's smile that fooled so many must have been exhausting to carry alone.

Almost as though he'd read the Chinese man's thoughts, Duo heaved a heavy sigh, resting his forearms on his thighs so his shoulders hunched forward, head bowed slightly. When he spoke minutes later his voice held that mixture of fatigue and irony that was purely Duo, "Hell, I'm bad at this. I should let you get back to sleep."

"Stay," Wufei hoped the abrupt word didn't sound as pathetically desperate as he felt at that moment. The wide-eyed disbelief on Duo's face, from where he was frozen half standing and half turned, was enough to tell him his hopes were likely in vain. Wufei turned his proud head to the side, unwilling to lose anymore face by looking down to avoid the other man's gaze, "You're doing fine."

"Alright," came the slow response. He felt Duo slowly settle back onto the edge of the mattress. Silence stretched. Too long. Wufei opened an eye to verify that the other man had actually stayed. Duo was lounging backwards on straight arms in his peripheral, stretching his abdominal muscles, languid. At once, guilt reared its ugly head with anger at his own selfishness hot on its heels. The American had presented an honorable evasion of this awkwardness, but he'd been too pathetic to sit alone in the dark and quiet. His jaw clenched, onyx eyes focusing on the hands in his lap once more, hale and healthy, proof of the absurdity of the dream and its cold terror. It shouldn't have been a surprise when Duo broke the silence, yet it was, "You read poetry?"

Wufei's head reared upward abruptly. Duo was flipping through the thick volume of collected poems that had recently been on his nightstand. It was one of the broad overviews he used to focus his study. He just stared, "Yes, of course."

"Of course?" Duo laughed, genuinely amused. "I don't see what's so obvious about it."

"Poetry reflects humanity," Wufei explained evenly, the way it had been taught to him during his own early tutelage.

Duo looked up from the book he was paging through, almost reverently conscientious of the paper in his hands, and frowned, "How's that?"

"It gives form to that which is indescribable."

Duo raised an eyebrow, "What?"

Wufei smiled, "Poetry transcends perfect understanding in order to convey truth."

"Now you're just being a jackass," Duo growled, flopping onto his back, laying his head beside Wufei's knee, book closed on his chest. Violet eyes dared him to contradict the statement.

Wufei sighed, which did nothing to hide the smirk or deny the insult, "Poetry can help you understand things, and people, that are… beyond description. It has its own language. For instance, the forms can have personalities."

Duo smirked, "Like us, huh?"

"Yes, actually," Wufei shifted so it was easier to look down at the other man, "not dissimilar to us."

"Sure," Duo crowed skeptically. "What am I?"

Wufei absently ran his hand through his hair, "Beat."

Duo gave him a slightly withered look and waited.

"Beat poetry," Wufei started, "Spontaneous, vibrant, rhythmic, and visceral. It broke a great many rules and angered a great many people."

Duo rolled his eyes, but his smile was distinctly pleased, "Okay, what about Quatre?"

Wufei smirked, "Sonnet. Time-honored, exquisite, and often utilized for, though hardly limited to, matters of the heart."

"Trowa?" Duo was grinning now.

Wufei had to pause for a moment, "Haiku."

"Haiku?"

Black hair fluttered as Wufei nodded decisively, "It has its own deep seeded conventions, seems like gibberish at first, yet manages to make its own obscure, laconic sense in the end."

"Yuy?"

Wufei frowned at the surname, "Prose."

"Isn't that just normal writing?" Duo pounced, narrowing violet eyes in challenge at the figure above him.

"More or less," Wufei admitted, slightly surprised. He'd been treating this as an academic exercise rather than a discussion, which he knew was rude, but he hadn't expected anything from the American, considering his initial reaction to the subject matter. Not for the first time, Wufei forced himself not to be drawn into Duo's façade. The man was nowhere near as ignorant as he could seem at times. "Prose can be considered poetry if you take an inclusive view of the concept, which I do. Besides, Yuy's too pragmatic for the other forms, really, even free verse. He's too concerned with meaning and content to think about composition."

Violet eyes echoed with sharp, mocking suspicion, "Cheater."

"In academia it's called interpretation," Wufei corrected with only a slight scowl.

Duo grinned, "Still cheating. But, that leaves you."

"Ode," Wufei grunted flatly, "Traditional, dialectic, scholarly."

"Sounds boring," Duo pointed out.

"Classical," Wufei amended, though his tone agreed wholeheartedly.

Duo evaluated his Chinese companion, "Nah, I don't like it. You're more… I don't know, but you're definitely more than that."

Wufei looked steadily down at the American, pondering. Those comparisons were the kind of thoughts he mused while studying, mental acrobatics designed to make the content personal and test his own understanding. They were not intended to be shared; they were pure opinion, personal, revealing. His frown returned, "Idiot."

Violet eyes rolled theatrically, "Right."

Wufei surveyed the far side of his room coolly, resting his head in a hand.

"At least this explains why you've been so damned poetical lately," Duo chided, engrossed in the book again.

"Everyone becomes a poet…" The oddly inversed quote died on his lips as his brain clamored for a full and immediate stop. _At the touch of love_. …Huh.

Duo must have felt him go still, or caught the abruptness of the cut, because his head shifted and his voice suddenly sounded confused when he spoke, "Wufei?"

"Hm?" It was the best response Wufei could manage. He was busy mentally cursing Plato and wondering what that particular quote had been doing wandering around his mind. It was just a quote after all, a Platonic quote, at that. It's not as though the world was ever lacking in quotes concerning poets and love. Suddenly, proximity was an issue, chestnut hair brushing his thigh, the heat of another body in his bed. Flushing only reminded him of the amount of skin he had exposed to the cool night air.

Duo moved on the bed, changing position. Languidly, Wufei presumed. Wufei felt eyes on him and didn't move. His body had slipped into something akin to his meditative trance, mind practically whirring, but body frighteningly tranquil. Of course he loved Duo; the man was his friend, his clansman. Though, if that were it, the true and final extent of possible feeling toward him, a simple word should never have been so jarring. Then again, pride and a keen sense of inappropriateness could easily explain that response. Maybe. It was difficult to decide whether the idea itself was giving him trouble, or the fact that he'd honestly never considered it before. Violet eyes would not be ignored though and left him wondering how someone could stare vociferously. He turned, placid in his detachment.

Duo had propped himself up on one elbow, leaning on his side with his braid hanging over one shoulder and across his chest. The traitorous book was on the bed, ignored. The American was eyeing him with blatant concern, yet perhaps a touch more thoroughly than Wufei had noticed before. The small frown playing across Duo's lips deepened ever so slightly.

"You okay, buddy?" Duo reached his free hand to grab Wufei's shoulder, a motion not just languid, which didn't do the play of lean muscle under its tapestry of scarred skin justice, but exquisite. It was poetry, damn it. The contact, meant to steady, tingled electrically and his body, still raw and rebellious from his nightmare, was moved to the smallest of tremors.

Duo gaped at him, too surprised by the reaction to remove the hand that had triggered it. His jaw tensed while violet eyes flanking a ruined nose searched a little more blatantly, those passing eyes making Wufei all too aware of his own body and its impulses. The hand ghosted up his neck, never breaking contact, knuckles along his jaw, trailing lightning. His breath hitched. Calloused fingertips brushed his chin, lips, nose before sweeping the curtain of smooth black hair from his face, skimming the length of his cheekbone to curl behind his ear.

All want and wonder, violet crashed into placid onyx. Wufei realized it had to have been a month or more since Duo's last encounter, longer for himself. Everything Wufei knew about the man told him that the American must be half mad by now, starved for touch. Without thinking, Wufei's hand was at Duo's chin, a thumb passing over lips that quirked into one of those rare genuine, unlovely smiles. The hand hesitated, withdrew, but stopped again, hovering between them, tranquil onyx gaze noting reactions, waiting for the next move. Receptive. Open. Vulnerable. Duo blinked.

The small smile burst into a wide grin, one of those dazzling boisterous things, as Duo recalled his hand to scratch at the base of his braid, "Would you mind if I borrowed your book for a while?"

The abrupt change jerked something loose in Wufei's chest, his body settled back under his control. The still hovering hand dropped with his gaze to the thick compilation, "You want to read poetry?"

"Of course," Duo mocked, sitting up, putting distance between them.

Wufei held out the book, "Fine."

Duo let the smile fade slightly. Wufei gazed back steadily, no anger, no flinching, no disgust, just waiting. Duo sighed and grabbed the book by the corner, careful that hands didn't touch, "I'll take care of it. Promise to get it back quick."

"Take your time," Wufei advised, allowing the tiniest smirk, "It's not as though I don't know where to find you."

It took Duo a second to let out a low laugh at the joke that had blindsided him. He appraised the Chinese man again, checking which way the wind might decide to blow. Wufei had no direction, but center, just then, though he could feel something brewing. He had just nearly instigated something intimate with Duo. The implications of that were strange enough without the current situation with Heero leaping to mind. Yet, he couldn't make himself disturbed over the idea, not even slightly offended. Seeing the wind had no intention of going one way or the other, Duo ruffled his own bangs, "I'm going to get some sleep, or I'll be completely useless tomorrow."

Wufei nodded, keeping his tumbling thoughts to himself. Duo stood and stretched. Wufei's eyes followed him, "Good night, Maxwell."

"Sleep well, Wufei," Duo murmured with an uncharitable smile. Wufei resigned himself to spending the rest of the night alone, meditating. He certainly had plenty to consider now, though. He watched as Duo languidly left his room, braid swaying.

* * *

**Lady butterfly3** - This story is continuing and the schedule is set for every two weeks, though that may change considering I now have the time to finish the later chapters. Thank you for your kind words and I hope you enjoyed this one, too.

**Allora Gale** - Thank you, again. I'm rather fond of the dynamic between those two, too.

**TenshiNanashi **- Or as soon as they realize gossiping about dangerous people is ill advised. I'm glad you're liking it so far. Thanks.

**darkpanthress** - Thank you very much. I hope you enjoy the rest, too.


	4. Inure

**Fortnight**

**Ch 04 - Inure**

by APs

**Betas** – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (Who are both awesome!)

**A/N** – Read and enjoy! Reviews will be loved, too!

* * *

I have known it for a long time but I have only just experienced it. Now I know it not only with my intellect, but with my eyes, with my heart, with my stomach.

- Hermann Hesse

* * *

Wufei was losing ground fast. Three in the morning, earlier than normal, earlier than they were technically allowed to be there, and Sally was putting him through his paces. His focus was shot, body fighting instead of his mind. He was coasting on muscle memory, which his student had clearly not missed. With a growl, the woman backed off and waited until her master had relaxed his stance to do the same.

Sally eyed him as she settled sore shoulders, "Alright, what's bothering you?"

Wufei lifted an eyebrow at her, barely even sweating.

"Please, kid, I know I'm not good enough to back you into a corner just yet. Add to that the unholy hour and the fact that Duo's gone on a cold mission and I'd have to speculate that there's something you need to get off your chest," the woman sat on the mat to stretch, letting the man come to her if he pleased.

Wufei gauged her carefully. Sally had never been stupid and she knew him intimately, but he still couldn't help the surge of affectionate relief he felt at her intuitive grasp of his condition. He folded his legs neatly beneath him before he spoke, "I have feelings for Maxwell."

"What?" The woman's expression was pure surprise, no room for anything else.

"I am romantically interested in Maxwell," Wufei sighed through grit teeth. Did she think this was easy for him? He'd inured to the preliminary conclusion less than a week after their awkward nocturnal exchange and, instantly, the idiocy of the entire situation had come crashing down on him. When Duo had left three days ago for a cold, or low threat level, mission, basically a mail run, Wufei had realized the true depths of what he'd unearthed. The first night, he'd woken up screaming and wandered about his house practically aching for another voice. The next day had been terrible, he missed everything from casual diner conversation to the harsh violet eyes. It had been last night, when he hadn't slept at all, that he had decided he needed to talk to someone.

"When did that happen?" Her shock had subsided, letting curiosity shine through.

"I have known it for a long time but I have only just experienced it. Now I know it not only with my intellect, but with my eyes, with my heart, with my stomach."

Sally's husky laughter caught him unprepared, "I always knew love would sneak up on you, though Duo wasn't exactly my first guess."

"You had a first guess?" the man eyed her sourly.

"Of course," Sally smirked, "There were plans to set you up with a tough little girl from Tactical, at some point. Though, I always figured you'd be more compatible with Heero, honestly."

The Chinese man balked at the casually presented information, "Yuy?"

Sally realized she'd gone too far, too fast, and consciously reigned herself in, "Look, for all your scholarship and maturity, you've never really been one to listen very closely to your heart. It wasn't really that I thought you preferred _men_ so much as you preferred_ specific_ men."

Wufei just glared at her, unable to quell the heat rising in his cheeks.

Sally sighed, "You know how I say I can tell you don't love me by your eyes?"

He nodded slowly.

"It's because you never look at me with even half the warmth you give the other pilots," she smiled wanly, "They're the only ones I've ever seen your eyes soften for."

He wanted to propose again. Women like Sally didn't actually exist, at least not outside ancient histories and plays. He could see the legacy of Amazons and Empresses in her, perhaps even a faint echo of the woman Nataku may have been. She would make a fine mother to strong children. It still wasn't love. He took a deep breathe, "What made you think it would be Yuy?"

"Well," she paused, checking that he was willingly listening, "Heero has always seemed to be on more equal ground with you, but trust you to fall for the one that knows less about love than you do."

"Maxwell is one of the most caring people I know," Wufei corrected sharply.

"Oh, he's caring," Sally hesitated, "The man definitely cares how others react to him, wants everyone to laugh and be happy, not think too much, but he doesn't let anyone get close, almost like he's afraid. I'd bet the poor guy's been wounded."

Wufei scowled, "We've all been wounded."

"A wound of the heart can be much more serious than most things physical," Sally murmured, "and I get the impression Duo's heart may be encased in scar tissue."

The image of Duo's scarred body flashed through Wufei's mind, but he didn't flinch, "We all have wounds, Po."

Sally shook her head and sighed, "Alright, so what's specifically bothering you?"

The man gauged her, trust a doctor to cut to the heart of the problem. He licked his lips, "As you know, Yuy and Maxwell have recently had… difficulties."

"That's putting it mildly," Sally agreed.

Wufei ignored the aside, "Maxwell came to me, as a friend, for help."

"And now you feel that you're, perhaps, a little biased and no longer the ideal mediator for this specific situation," the woman hypothesized.

The man blinked. Were all women so… intuitive, or was Sally Po just psychic? He was troubled by the thought of hurting the situation more than helping it, whether intentional or otherwise. His dealings with his clansmen were tied with his honor and putting himself before any of them was shameful.

Sally tilted her head at him, apparently having expected more of a reply, "If it helps any, it looks like whatever was happening between Duo and Heero is over."

"That is between them," Wufei glowered. He could not consider something 'over' until some form of equilibrium was restored and, from where he stood, everything was still fairly volatile. Only those involved knew what had actually happened and they didn't seem to feel the need to share.

"I'd say you have some part in this now, wouldn't you?"

"I would not."

Sally scrutinized him, "Your feelings count for something, too, Wufei."

Not when they usurped his sense of duty. Sally had never understood that part of him and he wasn't entirely sure she could even if she had wanted. It was always the many over the individual. If one must sacrifice for harmony, then one did so willingly. Wufei simply gazed back, his shoulders falling slightly, "This may have been a mistake."

The woman was trying valiantly not to be offended, "It does seem more like something you'd usually discuss with one of the others. Why not call Quatre?"

"Winner is already shouldering more of this burden than is right," Wufei reasoned nicely, so he thought. Trowa was still away and dumping this entire fiasco on the blonde seemed downright unjust. It had very little to do with their current interpersonal issues, so he told himself.

Sally frowned, "Well, who do you usually talk to?"

"Barton."

"Oh."

The man nodded. Trowa had been his confidante during and since the war. He had been the closest Wufei had found to a true kindred spirit among the other pilots. Wufei was a warrior, of a line of warriors. Chang Wufei had fought his war because he was capable and had decided it needed to be done. Heero, though admirable for his strength and drive, was a soldier and fought because he was told. Duo fought out of necessity, which Wufei accepted. Quatre had fought for peace and Wufei had always had his misgivings about that line of logic. The man with no name, whom they had learned to call Trowa, was a mercenary. Though he could take orders, he was equally capable of deciding his own actions with a clarity the others had often lacked and his stoic determination in the face of despair was enough to make the proudest warrior heed that quiet voice when it deigned to offer something.

Sally tore him from his thoughts, "Why don't you talk to Heero?"

The man arched an eyebrow. That was, in fact, the last available choice.

"You need someone to explain this to and he needs to understand what's happening. There's no reason you couldn't help each other," Sally demonstrated this cooperation by weaving her fingers together.

Wufei stared at her, blasé. He could think of several reasons why they may not be able to help each other, most of which revolved around weapons and fists. Of course, the last time he'd seen his Japanese friend the man had seemed more lost than angry. Heero did deserve his honesty, after all, and perhaps it had been long enough that a discussion might not devolve into blows. The point was rapidly approaching where he would more than welcome a fight, anyway.

Apparently, he took too long in his revelry for Sally's tastes, "Or you could always talk to Une, I guess."

Wufei choked and the woman broke into peals of deep laughter. Composing himself, the man let a dark little smile cross his features, appreciating Sally's low, throaty laugh, one of the things he found truly attractive about her. Her mirth subsided slowly to a Mona Lisa smirk and a saucily arched brow.

"I'll talk to Yuy," Wufei assured her.

"Good," a wolfish grin slipped onto the woman's lips, "It's such a waste letting someone that gorgeous mope about."

Sally laughed, again, as her friend grimaced. Wufei sighed in resignation as he got to his feet, "I believe we're finished for the day."

They bowed, but before Wufei could turn to head for the men's locker room, Sally had caught him in a hug, bodies crushed together. He froze, familiar hands gripping his back tight, the fragrance of soft hair, warm breathe against his ear.

"Thank you… for coming to me," she softly whispered, low and throaty.

A slightly whimsical smirk overtook him and he returned the embrace gently, "Marry me."

She laughed and kissed him firmly on the cheek before slipping from him, "Don't be an idiot, Chang Wufei. We all deserve better."

And he watched as she jogged away, trailing laughter.

Chang Wufei was waiting at a table in a decent, but inexpensive restaurant for one, Heero Yuy, with whom he had managed to make plans earlier that day. That had been an exercise in efficiency, a conversation in nods, grunts, and a single note. Wufei had decided on dinner over lunch, for the lack of time constraint, stress, and weapon availability. He'd chosen the restaurant for its open floor plan, many exits, neglected back alley, and general public neutrality while not being overly busy. The field of battle is never an arbitrary thing.

"Wufei?" The soft question made the Chinese man turn, frowning slightly. He knew that voice and it wasn't right. He found Quatre smiling politely with Heero beside him, coldly blank.

"Yuy," Wufei greeted his invited guest first before settling a questioning eye on the blonde, "Winner."

"I hope it's not a bother that I accompanied Heero," Quatre squirmed slightly in his formalities and Wufei felt exasperation flare.

"He's playing conciliator," deep blue eyes indicated Quatre with only the slightest annoyed chill to them.

The blonde ignored the flat insult with practiced ease and moved to claim the seat on the far side of the table, leaving Heero to drag a chair over near Wufei's, "Diner with friends seemed like a good idea."

In the silence that followed Wufei glanced from Quatre's reserved smile to where Heero was glaring halfheartedly at the blonde. Quatre Winner could be downright insufferable when he decided it was his job to fix something. When the waitress materialized, it was little wonder both darker men ordered stiff drinks.

"Just water, thank you," Quatre smiled gently, garnering a small smile in return. The woman vanished like so much smoke, leaving the three to stare at each other. Quatre chuckled, which would have sounded strained by any standard, "I suppose that makes me the designated driver."

The looks he earned from his Asian companions made the blonde clear his throat and straighten his back. Not bad considering a normal man would have probably began to melt. Wufei shoved his frustrated growl back down his throat and focused on Heero. The Japanese man was regarding him with that inscrutable vacuity of genuine ignorance, waiting. Heero Yuy didn't fidget. In some circles it was believed he didn't even blink. The truth was, Heero didn't really know what was expected of him, so he did nothing. He'd grown out of it, since the war, but here he was, back in old ingrained habits. Something had to have shaken his confidence, badly. Wufei could only wonder.

"Well?" The single low growl made Wufei blink. Heero was direct, at least.

"Thank you for coming," Wufei bowed his head slightly, keeping eye contact.

"I said I would."

"It was good to hear from you," Quatre offered. Neither of the others spared him any attention.

The drinks arrived and Quatre thanked the waitress. Heero sipped at his glass like whiskey had lost its bite while Wufei left his ignored on the table. They watched each other, sitting in silence, and Wufei couldn't help remembering the war, specifically the lunar base. They had sat in utter silence for days before Duo had been thrown into an unceremonious heap on their floor. …Duo.

Quatre took a deeper breath, but Wufei decided he should be the one to start this, "I felt I should apologize for what happened at my house."

"That was a month ago," Heero stated, vanilla bland.

"And we have not spoken since."

Deep blue eyes remained indifferent, "There's nothing to say."

They had always been the comfortable silence type of friends, speaking when necessary, but finding it less and less so over the years. A smile, a nod, a handshake, a glance, they had perfected the art of nonverbal vocabulary. Absently Wufei wondered if that was why Sally had believed Heero more his 'type'. They were guys together and, though Wufei would never say it, the fact that Heero had simply erected a wall, stopped their dialogue, hurt. It hurt a lot. He drank somewhat mechanically, hoping the burn would cover his bruised pride.

"Obviously there's _something_, Heero," Quatre chimed in.

Wufei was calculating how much more difficult the blonde was making this, but Heero simply nodded, taking another drink, "Apparently. Was that all?"

Wufei frowned, "I should not have treated you so rudely."

"No," Heero agreed, lips ticking upward, "But I needed it."

Something seemed to relax in Heero, a thaw if not a full melt just yet. The Japanese man glanced at Quatre, who gave him a warm smile, encouraging. Wufei knew that the others leaned heavily on the blonde, with whom all three had spent significant time during the war. It sometimes felt as though they had all been lost together, while Wufei had been fighting a war by himself. Heero understood, had helped him during the Mariemaia incident. Something tightened in his chest and Wufei cursed Trowa's mission. More liquid fire blazed down his throat as darkness settled on his face.

"There's more," Heero wasn't asking. Concern flashed in deep blue eyes.

"I…" Wufei bowed his head slightly without breaking eye contact, submissive, but hardly cowering, "I have realized that I feel deeply for Maxwell."

Heero's eyes widened and he blinked. Several times. Quatre looked between the two, puzzled, "We all like Duo."

"Some more than others," Heero placed his glass on the table with great care. Quatre frowned, but said nothing.

Wufei licked his lips, "On my honor it was neither intentional nor anticipated in the least."

Deep blue eyes glared at him briefly, "How long?"

"A week."

"He doesn't know," the tone was broken glass, irregular and sharp.

"He may."

Heero clenched his jaw, "But you haven't told him."

"No," Wufei confirmed. He felt himself falling into that placid rigidity, his mind and body reacting to tension in the air, aggression aimed his way.

The Japanese man laughed, "So, you want my blessing to fuck my boyfriend?"

"Heero!" Quatre's protest barely registered, Wufei was so shocked.

"Let's go, Quatre," Heero finished his drink and stood.

Shock burst into outrage as Wufei slammed his glass down, bolting out of his chair, "I ask no such thing, Yuy."

"Then you already have."

Quatre was on his feet now, too, "Heero!"

Wufei sputtered and felt himself turn what must have been an interesting shade of crimson, "I am not- could not- How vile and debase-"

"You wouldn't have stopped it," Heero growled.

Wufei swore fluently, and a touch whimsically, in Chinese before he caught his breath. His friend was right, no doubt his lack of proper response was damning enough.

"Why don't you both sit down," Quatre rasped from across the table, "This is hardly fair."

"Fair?" Heero laughed again, vaguely crazed. Wufei reevaluated his friend quickly. He was carrying himself like he had during the war when he'd been smashed inside and running on nothing but pain and wrath.

Onyx eyes closed with a deep, grounding breath, "I came here to do the honorable thing. To inform you and give you my word that it shall never go further."

Heero stared icicles at him, "You're not going to do anything because of me?"

"I could never wager your friendship."

Deep blue eyes slipped away from him, leaving a notable void, "You're either a liar or a coward."

Wufei felt his face twist, shaking visibly, but he couldn't speak.

A wolfish grin slipped onto Heero's face, but he still wouldn't look at Wufei, "Either you lied about your feelings or you're too scared to do anything about them."

"Heero," Quatre sighed, "stop trying to start a fight."

Deep blue eyes flickered to the blonde like he'd just dropped the apple on Newton, "No, I think I was supposed to." Heero glanced at his smoldering friend, "I believe that was exactly what Chang wanted."

Wufei killed his drink in one shot and took his time replacing the glass as he reigned himself in. Silence once again served as his only response.

"Sorry, Wufei, but I'm not beating through your insecurities this time," Heero's rough voice grated, gravel against skin.

"Don't be a fool, Yuy," Wufei sneered, feeling the familiar double edge of disgust, "It was a beating from you that started this."

Heero froze, his every muscle strained, his voice soft with the promise of violence, "You want to stop."

A part of him wanted to heed the wisdom in that, but it was suddenly as though they were fifteen again, young and invincible, full of idealism and rage. Piss and vinegar, as the saying went. The arrogance lacing his tone was bitter, "Afraid of an honorable fight, Yuy? Or are sucker punches all you're capable of anymore?"

"Wufei!" His name coming from Quatre with such force was an odd experience, surreal almost. He looked down his nose at the blonde briefly, but Heero was the immediate threat.

"Stop," Heero was practically humming with the effort of restraint.

Wufei's brain was screaming on full alert, but the pompous smirk slipped onto his lips so naturally it made his skin crawl, "So you can simply blindside me, too?"

Fist met table, brutally, "You weren't there."

"No one was." Volumes rose.

"Guys! Please-" Vaguely Wufei registered Quatre trail off, go blank, but danger was too imminent in Heero.

"You won't understand!"

Quatre's hand was clutching at his chest, "… Heero…"

"Not if you won't explain yourself!"

The blonde sank back into his seat, "…Wufei…"

"You've already decided!"

Panting softly, Quatre stared at the table, barely whispering, "…Trowa."

"Damage speaks for itself." Wufei shifted, one more push and Heero would break, "You're-"

"Both of you shut the hell up!" The two Asian ex-pilots stopped to stare in shock at little, blonde Quatre. The man was seated, but the look in his eyes was unsettling, all the craze and power of Zero under lucid sobriety. It was terrifying. Jaw clenched, he fixed his comrades each with a look firm enough to admonish inanimate objects, then closed his eyes, leaving them in bemused and astonished silence.

It was Heero who spoke, "Quatre?"

"Trowa," Quatre started, but his voice hitched, "Trowa's in trouble."

Heero glanced to Wufei, who nodded. They had long ago given up trying to quantify or explain Quatre's ability to simply know things. It made Wufei uncomfortable, if he thought about it, but it had more than proved its utility. There were things that needed doing and Heero would see to Quatre, so all that was left for Wufei, at the moment, was a swift retreat before anymore of his world was pulled out from under him.

* * *

Allora Gale – You'd think 'Fei would be better at stepping delicately and I'm glad to have enlivened your vocabulary. Thanks again!

Yesterdays-lover – Sorry, but if I finish it off soon, I may be convinced to move up the update schedule. We'll see.

Shinnscape – No worries, I'm definitely continuing and finishing Fortnight. Thanks for speaking up. It makes me feel loved.

In2lalaland – I'm happy Wufei comes across as solid and the problem is more complicated than it looks. That's all I'm saying for now, but thanks for reviewing.

And a general thank you to everyone who has faved and a hello to my watchers!


	5. Askance

**Fortnight**

**Ch 05 - Askance**

by APs

**Betas** – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (Who are both awesome!)

**A/N** – Read and enjoy! Reviews will be loved, too!

**i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i**

The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other.

-Ashleigh Brilliant

**i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i**

After wishing for nearly a week to hear his voice, all Wufei could think was that the man /had/ to run out of words eventually. It felt as though Duo hadn't shut up since he'd returned and that had been days ago. Even his reserve reserves of patience and calm were wearing thin between the sleep deprivation and constant stress of the last several weeks. The incessant stream of consciousness he'd been privy to was certainly not helping matters, nor were the specific topics that seemed to cycle through every few hours.

"No more damned solo mission, for any of us," the braided man was muttering softly in front of him as they slipped through the shadows around the offending base. "I leave and over half of you go missing. Vanish. Poof! Into thick air."

"Maxwell!" Wufei finally found himself hissing over a pointed, even glare.

"What?" Large violet eyes glared askance, "It's true!"

His brows rose, "Mission."

"Rescue mission," Duo corrected as though the words were curdling in his mouth. Wufei didn't like it either, but it was what it was and there was no point in whining. Duo seemed to grumble to himself when he was angry, though, and it wasn't like there hadn't been enough to grumble about when he'd returned from his cakewalk of a mission. Trowa out of contact for over two weeks with Heero and Quatre the same for a bit over one.

Quatre had best known the mission details and Heero was admittedly better at stealth and extraction. The fact that Heero refused to even acknowledge Wufei's existence had not seemed to hinder preparations, nor merit intervention. Besides, Une had demanded /one/ of them stay to explain to Duo and as Quatre had made it clear he was going…

"Stop talking," Wufei ground out.

Duo made an amused noise, "It's just breaking and entering, Wufei."

He glared more pointedly, but didn't deign to respond. Snorting softly, the braided man turned back to the task at hand. Getting in was no problem considering their level of skill and the fact that large compounds were nearly impossible to secure properly while maintaining the appearance of abandonment. Senses buzzing, Wufei couldn't help the tiny smirk that slipped onto his lips at Duo's small, probably unconscious noise of victory from bypassing the security so easily.

They ghosted through darkened halls. The base had been an OZ installment, so the layout had neither been hard to find, nor difficult to navigate. Dark eyes washed over the area, picking out the languid figure moving within the darkness, Duo Maxwell in his element. Which he knew wasn't true, Duo Maxwell cared as much about darkness as Chang Wufei did rain. Stealth was just natural to Duo, ingrained, no matter the surroundings. Not being noticed was as much a part of Duo as his braid. The American looked back and grinned before he checked around a corner, low.

Duo on point with Wufei watching their backs, they headed for the closest access hub. All intelligence pointed to the continued use of the bases internal network and hacking in would be much quicker than a thorough search. It didn't sit well with Wufei and it sat worse the further inside the base they ventured. They didn't encounter anyone, but they didn't hear anyone either and the lights were off. The place stank of dust and stale air. It didn't feel lived in. Something wasn't right.

Duo fell upon the computer without consulting Wufei, which was fine. Duo was better with computers and Wufei certainly didn't mind guard duty. The way his brain was screaming at him, he doubted he could have given anything other than guard duty his full focus.

"Shit," he heard Duo hiss behind him.

Shifting to keep the majority of his attention on the halls, Wufei darted a glance back, "Maxwell?"

"This thing is rotten and forgotten. Nobody's used this in years," the American growled, giving the terminal a halfhearted kick before swiveling to look at his partner. "I think we've been screwed."

Dark eyes turned from the empty halls, "A setup."

"Maybe," Duo hesitated, leaning back to glare at the ceiling, "But this stinks of file tampering, major cover ups. I mean, this place is abandoned."

It was true. The Chinese man swept a hand over his face, "You're suggesting someone changed the entire location in an ongoing mission file at some point after initialization without detection."

"It's possible," Duo countered.

Dark eyes narrowed, "Only if it was someone in Preventers, either on the case or overseeing it."

His fellow ex-pilot didn't turn his face from the ceiling, but violet eyes cast obliquely toward him.

Part of Wufei went cold and he growled to ignore it, "Winner would have brought it to our attention."

Duo shrugged, "Maybe he didn't want to tip off the bad guy, or it was changed after he left."

They just stared at each other for a long moment, letting the other option go by unsaid, yet heard just the same. Heero had the skill, knowledge, clearance, and, recently, mind frame to turn on them. Wufei wanted to dismiss it, but sharp violet eyes made his tongue burn to demand what the other knew to make the braided man stay his own refutation of the theory.

That's when the world spun. There was something cool, the floor, against his cheek by the time he registered Duo shouting, seeming both far away and too loud at the same time. Metal skittered across concrete, a gun sliding out of grasping range. Shoes scuffled, two dancing toward each other. A fight. Duo was fighting someone. Something wet was slithering down his neck as he forced himself up, the world a tumble of blurred, muddy color and noise. Intense muscle control kept him from hurling. No warning, no noise, no standing hairs on the back of his neck. He'd been pistol whipped. He'd been pistol whipped from behind and he was pissed. No enemy should have been able to get that close.

From Duo's feral grunts, the fight was still going once he staggered to his feet. That was good, the American had to be holding his own. He slumped against a wall, trying to zero in on the action. Two smears were beating each other, languid flowing versus stiff precision. His gun would be a bad idea. His partner gave a strangled cry of pain and Wufei launch himself at the now lone standing figure with a snarl.

Fighting while concussed _sucked_. He'd done it before, but that didn't change the fact. It was like space, there was no up, yet he felt heavy, covered in wet cloth. His stomach lurched with every shift, eyes refused to focus. His enemy dodged everything, not striking, not right. He was being toyed with. Someone was yelling at him to move. Duo. His fist sailed past their assailant's face once again, bringing him close, too close, to the other's face. Deep blue flashed and a soft, half grunt, then a hand like steel was wrenching his head back by the hair, legs giving.

"FEI!" Duo got through that time on the sheer level of panic as his vision tunneled. He tried to move, but something hard by his ear prodded him more insistently, painful grip on him tightening.

"I'll shoot him," it was a low, calm tone lacking inflection that made Wufei's blood run cold. Ah, so 'prodding object' would be a gun.

"I'll shoot you," Duo menaced, quiet and sure. A promise.

"He'll still be dead," that voice reasoned. Wufei couldn't make his brain work. He should be doing something. Every twitch of his assailant's fist sent everything swirling. Then he heard metal skittering away again. He was released, flung to the floor, he guessed. His vision went completely.

Duo growled, "Fuck you, Heero." And then everything drifted away.

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When Wufei came to, nothing was right. His body was rebelling, he couldn't find up, he couldn't focus, it was dark and foreign. He pushed against what he figured was down and retched hard, threw up. A hand promptly tugged him backward, away, sending his head swimming, but keeping him from falling back into the vomit.

"Easy, buddy," a low gruff whisper came from nowhere, though he decided it probably belonged to the hand. Then violet eyes were staring into his, being pried open by persistent, calloused fingers, close, too close, nose to nose. "You've got a concussion."

"I'd guessed," he snarled back. With a hand he couldn't stop from shaking, he reached up, but his head had been roughly bandaged.

"Careful," the American held his shoulder, "He clipped you pretty good. There's a cut, but it's not bad, just bled like hell."

He snorted, mostly to keep from having to speak and leaned back into the wall he was propped against.

"Good news is, we found Trowa," Duo breezed along, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and shifting to the side to clear the view. The taller ex-pilot was sitting across the room, barely discernable in the faint light, though his one visible eye was trained on them. Wufei flicked a hand at him and Trowa nodded, moving with a suspicious stiffness, though it was impossible to tell anything at the moment other than that he was by all appearances whole. Duo sighed, ruffling his bangs, "And Heero, of course."

"That really was him?" The Chinese man found himself croaking out. He took deep breathes, forcing his diaphragm not to seize. Well, that would explain why he hadn't bristled at his approach. He and Heero were close enough that he had apparently tuned out his motions as non-threatening. That was slightly disturbing. Heero Yuy was anything but 'non-threatening'.

"Yeah…" Duo was staring at the floor, a storm brewing on his face. "What the hell got into him, you suppose?"

"The difference between friendship and love is how much you can hurt each other."

"Still a prick," Duo scowled.

Wufei frowned, which sent sharp pain through the cotton stuffed consciousness he'd settled into. His breathing hitched and violet eyes were instantly upon him. Duo opened his mouth to caution again, but Wufei's glare brought him up short. Swallowing hard, the darker ex-pilot let his eyes drift shut, steadying himself.

"Wufei?" The concern was like a cutting edge on Duo's low tone. As a response, the Chinese ex-pilot folded his legs and straitened his back, resting a wrist on each knee, shoulders back, breathe rhythmic.

"He's meditating," a soft voice drifted evenly from across the room.

Duo snorted, "Obviously. So, what are we supposed to do? Wait till he slumps over dead to worry?"

"Yes," that soft voice mocked, then sighed. "He's fine."

He felt violet eyes sweep over him, before fabric rustled, Duo shifting position. His tone was jagged and bitter, muffled slightly, turned away, "No, he's not."

There was silence for a long moment and Wufei could almost visualize Trowa staring passively at Duo, who would be avoiding his eyes. Finally, the taller man vocalized the question, "What happened?"

"We got ambushed by Yuy," Duo spat, "What happened to you?"

"A low level tech from the Lunar Base blew my cover," if Trowa ever shrugged, there might have been one in accompaniment. "What happened to Heero?"

"How should I know?" the Braided ex-pilot dodged, "Where's Q?"

"Not here," he could almost hear the eyebrow arch, velvety tone biting a little, "What happened between you and Heero?"

"Why don't you ask him?" If conversations between Duo and Quatre could be ballets, then this was verbal fencing, complete with feints and ripostes. It was awkward, as though they weren't comfortable with each other. Wufei had never questioned that they were good friends, having never heard even the faintest rumor to the contrary. Of course, now that he _was_ thinking about it, they never seemed to go out of their way for each other, either. Duo gave Trowa space and Trowa reciprocated, not one to force things. Odd.

"He said to ask you," Trowa let it fall with no special significance. Duo cursed, but didn't seem inclined to do anything else. The pause stretched for a long time. Trowa was nothing if not patient.

Duo let out an explosive sigh and he shifted, agitated, "It was nothing. We had a fight because he asked… he asked something stupid and didn't like the answer."

"Oh…"

"Oh?" Duo's eyes had undoubtedly narrowed, sharpened.

Trowa was unfazed, though he did seem a touch saddened, "…he proposed."

Wufei felt his rhythm break, eyes blinking open. Duo's back was to him and he was too busy glaring daggers at the taller man across the room to notice Wufei's reaction, considering he hadn't made any noise. Trowa, however, was still Trowa. Emerald glanced askance at his Chinese friend, unreadable, evaluating. It had been purely for Wufei's benefit.

Duo was dangerously still, fixated, "You knew?"

"He asked my opinion last Christmas."

"And you said what exactly?"

Trowa's eyes drifted calmly to the side, "I advised against it."

"Huh…" most of the tension drained from Duo, though that bitter note persisted, "Jackass never could take advice."

Trowa looked back to Duo, "He had his reasons."

Duo barked out a harsh laugh, "Yeah. Don't we all."

"He had to know where he stood with you."

"Well, now he knows," there was finality in the American's sarcasm.

Silence fell and Wufei drifted, nothing anchoring him to solid reality as things remained fuzzed. He closed his eyes, working his mind to keep his body from mutiny. Things churned less when he could focus inward, though he detached more. It was unsettlingly familiar, drifting in the cold and silence, everything numb and unreal.

It was Trowa's voice that brought him back, strangely hesitant, "How long?"

"What?"

"Have I been here…"

"Ah," Duo had to think about it for a moment and Wufei imagined his face scrunching, "Well, it's been a month and a half since you left on your mission, though you only went silent about two weeks ago."

"Six weeks," Trowa murmured to himself. "How is he?"

Duo paused again, "Last I saw, he was fine."

"Last you saw," Trowa frowned, though Trowa's frowns matched his smiles for subtlety. They were mostly in the eyes, but you could hear it if you knew the man. Quatre, Wufei realized; they were talking about Quatre. The blonde the man across the room had entrusted to them, to him specifically. Wufei felt himself sag, failure, fear weighing heavy on him, but the world went for a whirl again and he found himself being braced by large hands once more.

"-ei. Wufei. Hey, come on," Duo was biting at his lower lip and Wufei couldn't help thinking of Sally. Once the braided pilot saw him focusing, he beamed, dangerous, haphazard, "You gotta stay awake for me, buddy."

He snorted, planting a hand on the treacherous floor, which kept wanting to tilt this way or that without the slightest warning.

"Here," Trowa's gentle tone pushed in from the left, followed abruptly by cool liquid on Wufei's lips. He sipped as best he could.

Duo was squirming in beside him, draping an arm across his shoulders for better support, "Want to lean back for a bit?"

"I do not need to be mothered," the Chinese Preventer managed, keeping his head as still as possible. Forcing his eyes to open, even barely, onyx met emerald. Trowa was haggard, pale, and bruised, but his eyes were the same, keen and vibrant and, at the moment, softened with concern. Concern for a friend, worry for a lover with not even the slightest hint of anger, no blame.

"Course not," Duo was scoffing, sardonic, unconvinced, "But we're not going anywhere 'til you quit seeing stars and knowing Yuy, that'll be a while, so you're stuck taking it easy."

Wufei grunted, squeezing his eyes shut again. Duo's skin on his skin was hot, lulling in its warmth, and he did everything in his power to ignore it, to sit straight and not melt into the other for support. With each breath he had to force himself to remember that the air was cycling, they were not back on the moon, the war was over. The war was over, but they were captured and Heero was carrying a gun, which he'd refused to do since the Mariemaia incident. Where he had betrayed Heero, betrayed all of them, but fought Heero, hurt Heero… like Duo. Duo, who could be so damned warm and stay so distant. Nothing was making sense anymore. His brain was working, but the connections it was making were hazy and slipshod, waxing and waning. When logic fails, there is only noise and panic. He couldn't stop his damned hands from shaking.

Slender fingers alighted gently over his without warning. Trowa was there, silent, understanding and nonjudgmental. Trowa, who would still a trembling hand, despite the rigidity of a back or the stubbornness of a fool. Wufei smiled softly. He was not alone; he was not even dying. He had had worse during the war, though he usually hadn't been conscious for it. For all its strangeness, this was not a nightmare. His head would clear, eventually, and then everything would make sense. The young Chinese man felt himself relax, relent.

"Wufei?" Duo sounded puzzled. The idea of Duo being confused by him accepting help only made him want to laugh, which he decided would be a poor decision. Instead, he leaned back, though only a little, into the American's strong arm. "You need something? Some water? Are you cold? Something wrong, buddy? You okay?"

"Duo," he murmured, attempting to keep still.

"Yeah?" There was something incredulous about his tone, almost suspicious, unbelieving.

Wufei waved it away, taking the time to remember they weren't back on the moon, to breathe. Trowa was there, Duo was supporting him, and they would figure out all that other nonsense later. He sighed, "Stop talking."

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**In2lalaland** – Yes, Quatre's timing is pretty terrible, but try not to be too hard on him. They're all frustrating in their own special ways. Anyway, you're mostly right with some key exceptions and your 'horrible thought' did drift through my mind at one point, but I've never been one for the creation of fairy tales. Also, Sally's role in this fic is actually a highlight for me, so I'm glad you liked it. Thanks a lot!

**Darkpanthress** – Here it is, let me know what you think, and as far as Quatre, baby brothers will be baby brothers, but that's far from his entirety, I promise. Thanks!


	6. Winnow

**Fortnight**

**Ch 06 – Winnow**

by APs

**Betas** – Now by gothic-pixel , who is made of pure, incomprehensible awesome!

**A/N** – Hi, I'm back! Yes, I am finishing Fortnight. Fridays sound good, let's make it Fridays for updates. However, the main push that made me come back at this specific moment is that there is an auction at LiveJournal right now where authors offer to write stories in exchange for donations to _**help Japan**_. **I've made an offer**, the link to which is in my profile, and if you ever wanted to see my take on another couple, have me write a proper ending to one of my one-shots, or do something else entirely, this is your chance. This is _fanfiction to help Japan_, so I strongly urge you go look through the offers, even if you don't bid on mine.

As before, though perhaps now more than ever, I cherish any and all feedback!

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To love a thing means wanting it to live.

-Confucius

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For the first time since the war, things were too still for Chang Wufei. He and Duo had been sharing Trowa's claustrophobic accommodations for between twelve and sixteen days, allowing for time loss due to his concussion and the fact that the cell never actually changed. The dim, flickering light never actually went out. The low hum of the vent never changed pitch. The door never opened. If it wasn't for the food plate that was shoved in every now and again, Wufei would have been tempted to assume they'd been forgotten altogether.

Apparently, the three of them rated a plate of food, depending on your definition, and a cup of water, singular, a day. He assumed it was per day, but it may have been whenever their captors felt like it, or remembered, even. With a sigh, he looked down into his portion of muck and realized there was too much again. Grinding his teeth to stifle a growl, he swept up the dish and paced to the back wall of their cell where Duo was sprawled on his back, one arm behind his head and eyes closed.

"Maxwell," he stood and waited, glaring.

"What, Wufei?" the question came with a sigh and a smirk, "I'm sleeping."

That was what they mutually accepted these long silent periods to be. Of course, it was also mutual knowledge that only one of them slept at a time and as Trowa had been leaning back against the opposite side wall, Wufei was well aware of Duo's current state of awareness. "You didn't finish."

A single violet eye blinked up at him, "Eh? Oh. Yeah, I did."

"You didn't," the Chinese man flatly refuted, "Finish your share."

That one violet eye held his gaze for a long moment. Finally, he stretched his arms over his head and turned onto his side, "I ate what I could stomach. Trust me, I'm done with that shit."

"You have to eat, idiot," Wufei explained slowly, squatting to hold the plate directly in front of the braided man's face. He had every intention of forcing the slop down the American's throat if need be, but the other's glance was plainly unimpressed.

"I'm not gonna starve, Wufei," Duo growled, a little too reminiscent of a feral dog for Wufei's tastes, knowledgeable in all the wrong ways. The Chinese man didn't move, didn't waver, just stared. Duo Maxwell wasn't the only one that could be stubborn. A soft hum from across the cell caught Wufei's attention, informing him that Trowa was both awake and fairly damn amused. Wufei did not find it funny. He couldn't fathom one of them willfully weakening themselves to be anything but base stupidity. Worse, he didn't know how long it had been going on, how long Duo had been depriving himself for others, for him.

Wufei leaned in close, bleak stare just above jaded glare, "Neither am I."

Duo arched an eyebrow at the sustained invasion of his personal space, "Then give it to Trowa."

The Chinese man blinked. The taller ex-pilot was certainly in the worst condition of the three, evidenced by the large, infected gash on his right arm and compound fractured left leg, which would more than likely need to be re-broken to have any chance at healing correctly. Of course, that was only what could be seen. Judging from the man's reluctance to any kind of motion, Wufei was fairly sure he could guess the rest, or at least the majority of it. Bottom line, the man could use the extra food.

The braided man snorted and closed his eyes, "Right, I'm going to sleep now, buddy."

He licked his lips and backed off, pausing to let an appraising onyx eye pass over the braided man's curled form. Lean, confident, and relaxed, Duo had changed as much as their cell. Consistency was proving to be a trait Wufei despised. He could feel the cool emerald gaze on his back, neutral, but exhaustive. With a snort, he stood and crisply turned to march toward their other cell mate.

Roughly halfway, the door screamed on its hinges, flooding the room with light and snapping everyone to their feet. Wufei froze, caught in the middle of the room, armed with the only metal not bolted down in the cell, their plate. A singular silhouette stood in the doorway, waiting. Wufei's eyes adjusted relatively quickly, enough that he could make out the hard blue of the piercing gaze.

"What the hell, Heero?" Duo was drawling familiarly from behind Wufei, that particular mixture of amusement and anger only he could manage. There was comfort in that tone, an old ritual of sorts, but nostalgia didn't sit right with Wufei. The Japanese ex-pilot held a gun loosely at his side, something he had refused to do since the Mariemaia Incident, and his body was relaxed, almost lank, yet there was definite purpose in his posture. Danger hung in the air like a scent. Wufei felt himself shift, coil, physically blocking Duo and drawing the dark blue glare to himself. The cool, flimsy plate tingled in his grip as distance calculations flew through his head. Impenetrable blue never even flinched.

The gunshot was nearly deafening in the confined space.

A body twisted, collapsed.

"Tro!" Duo was halted by Wufei's raised arm, keeping his body between the American and the sinisterly smoking barrel of the gun. Wufei kept Heero's hard, clinical gaze. No motion was registering in his peripheral where Trowa should have been, no sound.

Then Heero spoke, applying first pressure to the trigger, "Drop it."

The Chinese man bristled, but silently held the plate out and let it fall from his fingers. Behind him, Duo had simply stopped. The smile in his low tone was chilling, "You're gonna-"

"Maxwell!" Wufei left no room for argument in his bark.

Duo found some anyway, "He just-"

"I'm aware," Wufei growled, boring his gaze further into icy blue depths to no avail. Heero wasn't answering, wasn't there, hollow. Something was wrong, off. Despite his reputation, Heero had never been completely emotionless. He could shut down for missions, but this was different, significantly so. At the moment, Wufei was pissed beyond making the distinction.

Heero tossed something into the room that clattered on the floor and slid to a stop at Wufei's feet. Forearm manacles. Charming. He glared into cold blue expectantly. Heero took his cue, easing off the trigger fractionally, "Maxwell, secure Chang's arms."

"Screw y- Fei!" The Chinese man had already bent to retrieve the manacles, visibly clamping one about a wrist before standing and turning his back to their 'friend'.

Wufei brandished his arms, "Do it."

"Wufei..." The braided man stood, maniac smile rapidly fading.

He wondered if those violet eyes could see the tempest raging beneath his placidity, if that accounted for the quiet fear in the American's voice. Wufei met his gaze, "Now, Maxwell."

It was as though Duo snapped out of a trance, smile slinking back to his lips as he complied, "Yeah, sure, whatever you want. Not like it's my funeral."

Once the restraints were fastened, a touch tighter then necessary perhaps, a hand slipped into one of Wufei's and squeezed. He reciprocated without reacting. He was nowhere near as successful when Duo grabbed either side of his face and rammed their mouths together. For an interminable moment, Wufei was frozen to the spot, then something small and metal brushed his lips and he understood. His eyes sank closed, relenting, breathing mingled air, soft tongues touching, caressing, sharing more than breathe. When they parted, the small lock pick was safely under Wufei's tongue and Duo was smirking like the devil over his shoulder as he took two steps back, hands raised.

Wufei clenched his jaw and turned away, letting his eyes sweep over Trowa for the first and last time. The tall man laid crumpled where he had fallen, terribly still. He couldn't see the wound, but the dark, expanding pool was unmistakable. He felt himself detach again as he met Heero's eyes and waited.

Coldly impassive, Heero motioned for Wufei to step out. The hallway was blocked on either side of the cell by two highly armed guards, well out of charging distance, who appeared just as intent on shooting Heero. Apparently traitors were still universally reviled and distrusted. Casting a glance back into the cell, Heero paused, announcing to no one particular, "Someone will come for the body."

Then the heavy door slammed closed. Wufei stared at Heero, who stared back, obsidian and ice. Heero's head tilted ever so slightly to indicate direction, "Walk."

They traversed the hallways in a silent caravan: armed guards three meters ahead, prisoner, Heero roughly two meters behind and more armed guards further back. Wufei was well aware that a gun was a ranged weapon and an effective one in Heero's hands. And Heero knew he knew. Intersections were sealed on two sides and they never saw another soul. The Chinese Preventer was actually slightly flattered.

He'd worked the stiffness from his muscles by the time they'd reached the large, bare room with its single overhead light and chair bolted to the cracked cement floor. Apparently the classics never went out of style, cliché though they may be. Two guards remained outside while two stood on either side of the large door, which Wufei watched Heero lock.

"Please have a seat, Agent Chang," a falsely pleasant voice came, tinny, from the darkness on the opposite side of the room. Speakers. Wufei could barely make out a large pane of one-way glass from where he stood, unmoving and quite obviously not planning to move.

"Yuy," the voice sighed.

Heero trained the pistol between Wufei's eyes, keeping his distance, "Sit."

The Chinese Preventer scowled for a long moment before he moved, head high and jaw clenched. The chair was cool and sturdy, solid metal, but its bolts were loose, moving slightly when he sat. He wondered vaguely if that was from age or use. The voice drawled in amusement, buzzing mechanically, "Much better, I'm sure."

Wufei was fixated on his immediate problem, who was keeping well out of leg range, to his frustration. He felt the gun as though the bullet were already shattering his skull. Steady as the man that held it.

"We have some questions, Agent Chang. Your friend here has offered to retrieve the answers for us. The boys were a little heavy on the encouragement and light on the questions when they interviewed the now late Agent Barton, but such are the fortunes of a spy," the voice hissed through its speaker and into his ear, wrapping about his shoulders and making his face twist with disgust. When it was obvious the seated man was not going to respond, the voice continued, "Are you sure about this, Yuy? Chang's always been such a proud bastard."

"Pride is brittle," Heero replied without inflection, low, blunt. Wufei's serene stare dared him to try. Blue eyes over a barrel flashed and were ignored.

The voice had chuckled, "Not sure what you did to piss him off, Chang, but I'm glad I'm not you."

A minuscule smirk twitched at the Chinese man's lips, pure knowing malice, and deep blue eyes narrowed. Wufei had never had to do much to get a reaction out of Heero, though he agreed with the second sentiment emphatically.

Quickly the voice moved on, suddenly all business, "Franklin, secure the Agent, please. Hurley, assist."

The thugs guarding the door moved forward, one extracting a roll of heavy tape from a pocket.

"Are they here?" Heero droned, much to Wufei's confusion until he realized the Japanese man had been addressing the voice.

"_He_ is," a new, more familiar voice corrected, "You may begin, Yuy. Just remember, broken, not dead."

The Preventer felt a chill run through him at the presumption, which only fueled his anger. Heero, whom many believed couldn't feel anything, knew pain intimately and could administer it masterfully. Franklin had knelt in front of the seated Preventer and was reaching for one of his legs while Hurley stood behind him, a tower of muscle. Wufei noted them in his periphery, unwilling to let Heero's gaze wander. Blue eyes flashed once more, blinked twice, and the barrel lifted bare millimeters.

Wufei drove a knee into Franklin's throat as a bullet seared past his scalp and into the man behind him. Deafened by the gun's report, he felt more than heard the other man's windpipe crunch. He gripped the thug's shirt, keeping the choking man in front of him as he levered himself forward out of the chair, feeling the front bolts give. The second bullet drew white agony across his shoulder as he tossed his dead weight at the gunner. Heero danced to the side, re-aimed, too late. Wufei was there, disarming, sending the third shot up. The single light popped and darkness fell, hard. All that was left was black and the pained moans of horribly wounded thugs.

"Yuy!" the voice screamed, though in the darkness the glass now revealed two people, one of which was screaming into a microphone. The other was wearing a Preventer's jacket, gun out and warily backing toward a door.

"Tanner?" Wufei heard himself shout in disbelief. He saw the name register on the two faces and then they were gone, a not too far off explosion rocking the building and plunging them all again into darkness. An alarm shrieked, emergency lighting flashing everywhere. Wufei stood, staring for a long moment, feeling his blood boil. Then he was back at the chair, rending it the rest of the way free of its bolts and charging at the mirror. He roared as the shatter resistant glass spider-webbed, manacles biting into his wrists.

In the myriad shards, he saw Heero coming up behind him, "Chang."

He spun, flinging the chair into the far wall, "You knew about this!"

The Japanese man stopped where he was, "We should go."

"You- You used us as bait," He found himself sputtering as the lay of the land made itself clear to his mind in fits and starts. "You knew we were coming and you used us to get to that traitor!"

"Yes." Heero stood his ground as though he had always been and would always be there.

The chaos around them only served to highlight their deadly abeyance. The gun lay forgotten on the floor, gleaming sinister red in the pulsing emergency lights. They stared and this time there were no calculations, no hypothetical victories or stalemates. Blood slid down the side of his face and dripped from his chin, turning the air he breathed metallic. Wufei's stomach churned at the familiarity, fueling his anger more.

Heero's lips parted and motion erupted. He didn't want to hear. The only exchange he knew was that of blows. He felt a smirk slit his lips like a knife wound when his first sweeping strike met a block. Jarring. Like hitting a brick wall. Though the wall had stepped back. He didn't pause, left no time to think, pressed his opponent hard. The manacles gnawed at his forearms, made it harder to balance. Everything was adrenaline crisp, strobe light stuttered, and crimson stained. Fists and elbows and boots and knees sailed home and moved on, flitting from attack to attack, registering his growing wounds and bruises. Registering, not feeling. Feeling required thought and he was beyond that point. Something grabbed him, an echo of the steel on his forearms. He torqued, breaking free and ramming a shoulder into his opponent, driving them both to the ground. He brought his arms up to club his opponent, his enemy, and froze.

"_Wufei!_" The appeal, a rough bark more than a shout, finally punctured his understanding and he was left staring at his friend, his _clansman_, who was prone before him. The crushing blow had stopped inches from Heero's face, but the other hadn't even attempted to block it. The man lay there, unabashed blue gaze full of blatant concern and growled softly, "Are you okay?"

The Chinese man blinked and realized he'd been crying. He snarled, grabbing handfuls of the other's shirt, grinding fists into flesh, "What the hell are you thinking? You can't just stop fighting."

"One of us had to," Heero pointed out blandly, ignoring the physical provocation.

Wufei, likewise, ignored the verbal provocation, digging fists deeper into the other's ribcage. Attempting to crush the Japanese man into the concrete floor. All of his words vaporized by rage.

"Trowa was compromised from inside Intelligence," Heero explained, laying still, "We couldn't retrieve him without alerting the mole. We couldn't contact Preventer's without knowing who to trust. The only viable cover was as myself."

"And we were your proof of defection?"

"I provided Quatre's gun, badge, and blood upon my arrival, claiming to have terminated my mission partner. A polygraph and the mole corroborated the story."

"Then you didn't trust us," Wufei snarled, leaning close enough for blood to drip from his face to Heero's, pushing more of his body weight into the other than was wise. "Or did you want revenge?"

Blue eyes blinked, the inflexible line of his mouth bowing downward slightly, "I wanted those I could trust together and nearby."

In one expression, Wufei understood that Heero honestly had no concept of the treacherous thoughts he'd attributed to him. In that cell, they had been safe from their ignorance of the mole, able to tend Trowa, and positioned to help in, what he presumed, was this very sting. The concussion hadn't been anything a Gundam pilot wouldn't have been expected to recover from quickly, if not ignore entirely. Apparently, Heero still held him in some esteem. His pride stung along old scars, reminding him that not everyone held grudges. Reminding him of what he'd subconsciously always known, even if he still didn't like it. He trusted Heero Yuy. Trusted completely.

With a last shove, his last flare of anger smothering itself, he pushed off and away from the other man. Throbs of pain from his shoulder, head, and forearms beat in time with the lights. He couldn't look back at the other, but gestured with his manacled arms, "Key?"

The silence that followed was about as sheepish as Heero Yuy ever got.

Wufei nodded, spat the lock pick into a hand, and offered it.

Confusion flashed across Heero's face as he took the thin piece of metal.

"Maxwell," Wufei explained and Heero nodded curtly, something clicking painfully into place behind blue eyes. The Japanese man knelt before him, bent to his task. "You shot Barton."

Heero grunted agreement, "Shoulder."

"Why?"

"They wanted to torture two of you to question the third. I counter proposed. Barton was already a casualty." The summary was calm and unaffected, a string of facts. Logical.

The manacles clicked open and were gently removed, tossed across the room. Their eyes met, steady onyx prodding further than he dared ask.

Blue eyes responded in a confusion of emotions too quick to be interpreted before sweeping away. Heero reached for the pistol, but Wufei neither moved or even tensed. The other man offered the grip, barrel pointed at his own chest, eyes mild.

The Chinese ex-pilot accepted the gun and turned it away, checking it over as Heero stood, "You still love him."

"To love a thing means wanting it to live."

Blue eyes gazed off toward the discord of battle, but a hand was stretch down toward him. Wufei hummed a soft acknowledgment of the quote and, taking the proffered hand, stood. Together, the friends burst from the room, into the fray.

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The small medical bay was quiet, save for the steady, reassuring beep of Trowa's monitor. The tall, lanky man lay strapped into the recessed bed, unmoving and heavily bandaged. Chang Wufei had spent the last ten minutes simply watching the shallow rise and fall of his friend's chest, cementing the knowledge he was alive into irrefutable fact. They had found Duo, carrying Trowa, and rendezvoused at an unmarked Preventer's stealth shuttle Quatre had apparently commandeered from their fleeing traitor, traitor included. After assisting with takeoff, Heero had made him go see to his various minor wounds, making sure to note that the flight was easy and relatively short, hardly requiring two pilots.

So here he was, shirtless and freshly bandaged, proving to himself that the man he confided in the most was not dead. He didn't look up when soft footfalls halted abruptly in the doorway upon entering, but when the silence stretched with the feeling of eyes on his back, he breathed an internal sigh. Glancing slowly over, he was afforded a rare sight. Quatre stood on the threshold, staring evenly back at him, not smiling or with a brave front. Actually, there was a slightly tragic cast to his pale features, a piercing understanding in pale blue eyes. The last time he'd seen him like that was on Peacemillion.

"Winner," he greeted softly, inclining his head.

The spell was broken. The blond straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and pasted on a small, somewhat cold smile, "Wufei. How are you?"

"Tired, hungry, and sore, but nothing serious," he listed honestly.

The Arabian swept a cautious, yet appraising eye over the bandages he wore, "I can get you something to eat, but first, isn't that the second head injury in as many weeks?"

"It is," Wufei brushed a singed lock of hair from his eyes in annoyance. It had been burned short by the passing bullet and now refused to stay put anywhere.

"Oh," the blond took two worried steps toward him, then stopped, "You should have someone check that."

With an owly look, the Chinese ex-pilot gestured for the other to get on with it. He'd already resigned himself to the batteries of tests Preventer's in general, and Sally in specific, would require him to endure to assuage fear and grant him a clean bill of health. A preliminary would be a show of good faith on his part and hopefully calm Quatre.

The blond blinked and moved forward as though he hadn't expected to be allowed near. He started the minor examination hesitantly, all physical contact gentle, but clinically so. Wufei frowned, puzzled, to which Quatre smiled, "I didn't expect you to be in here."

The neutrality of the statement made it seem strange. Wufei quirked an eyebrow, "Where else should I be?"

"I just thought you'd either be co-piloting, or questioning our prisoner," he commented casually, having turned to rummage for a penlight.

Wufei blinked. Quatre had expected him to be with either Heero or Duo, since as far as he knew, the braided man was still menacing the traitor bound in their hold. Apparently, it had surprised Quatre to find him sitting with Trowa. Honestly, he'd been surprised to find Quatre not beside his lover when he had first come. Also, he couldn't remember the blond so much as glancing in the taller man's direction since he'd entered.

Taking the silence in stride, the blond kept diligently about his business, temporarily blinding each of Wufei's eyes in turn with the penlight, "How bad was the first injury?"

"Yuy pistol whipped me," he admitted in a low growl.

Quatre grimaced, "I'm sorry."

Wufei waited to see if he would elaborate on what exactly he was apologizing for, but that seemed to be all the other had to offer. The Chinese man was well aware of the circumstances now, but realized he was still unsure of something. "What were you doing while Yuy infiltrated the group?"

The Arabian ex-pilot glanced at him from the corner of his eye as he straightened the small first aid drawer he'd taken the light from, "Surveilled, data gathered, and prepped extraction routes."

Wufei nodded. He knew the task, the days spent in trees and ventilation shafts, the nights spent memorizing layouts and wiring explosives. Living as a ghost. It was never pleasant to have to watch high risk operations without doing anything. His eyes slid across the room to where his friend lay strapped in and too still by far.

"We got the traitor, at least," Quatre murmured, watching him watch Trowa.

At least. Wufei let that sentiment sink in for a moment before moving on. The throb in his head was being echoed in his shoulder and forearms. Quatre hadn't asked about the other injuries; the shoulder was superficial and they were all familiar with restraint abrasions. They had been fortunate the majority of the men hadn't been well trained and the expertly placed explosions had offered enough confusion to rattle them. Getting out had been fairly simple. Yet, he couldn't shake it. Heero running, unarmed with Trowa across his shoulders, blood slowly running down his arm. Quatre recklessly laying down desperate suppression fire without actual cover or a second thought. And, most of all, the smile that had contorted Duo's face in hideous glee as he spared none and let God winnow out the rest. A smile he only now realized cut both ways. It all cut both ways. They had done what they were best at and gotten out alive. At least.

"I'm done."

"Pardon?" Quatre seemed unsure.

The Chinese man turned black eyes on the blond, "I'm finished with this. With Preventer's."

His friend blinked and frowned, "Now perhaps is not the best time for a decision of that magnitude, Wufei."

"It is," he insisted harshly, staring evenly at the man in an attempt to press upon the other just how calm and lucid he was at the moment. "I'm through with this mess. Maybe I'll teach, but no more field work. I'm done."

Quatre stared openly. Then he seemed to remember himself and let his gaze slip awkwardly to the floor, finishing his straightening of the medical supplies, "I suppose that's your decision to make. I'll see what I can find for you to eat."

"Wait," Wufei barked, feeling frustration flare at the other's sudden retreat.

Quatre paused and turned back, all apparent innocence, though innocence rarely paused to brace itself, "Yes?"

"Have I offended you somehow?"

Pale blue eyes blinked at him, "No."

The Chinese man sighed, standing, "I only ask, so I may make amends."

"You haven't offended me, Wufei," the blond reiterated, smiling wanly.

Wufei frowned, "Then am I acting in some wrong manner?"

Quatre shifted to his back foot as though contemplating a dash for the door, "Not at all."

"This has gone on long enough," he stated plainly, stepping up to the other and confronting him, "What is wrong?"

"I really don't know what you're talking about," the blond seemed to deflate under the other's presence, eyes scanning to the side as he made to leave.

Wufei grabbed his upper arm, anchoring him in place, "If you tell me, I can school my actions, or attempt to explain. That is all I am asking."

Quatre rallied, planting himself more firmly before the Chinese man, voice steadier, but still avoiding his eyes, "Let go of my arm, Wufei."

"You're my friend, my _clansman_, Winner. For honor's sake, tell me."

He saw the blond's jaw clench, "It's nothing."

"I didn't imagine this. I'm not making it up, Winner. Just tell me."

Quatre's head snapped upward, locking a fierce gaze with Wufei's. His voice was harsher than Wufei had ever heard it, even in battle, "You remind me of my Father."

And then the blond was gone, shrugging off his hand, turning, and marching from the room before Wufei even had the time to comprehend the actual words, let alone the tone. The Chinese man had no idea where to start with that statement. He checked Trowa's vitals and bandages. Sat, feeling the tilt and sway of the shuttle as it bore them homeward. Watched the rise and fall of his friend's chest. Finally, he replayed the conversation. The answer still made no sense. So he sat in the oppressive stillness of the medical bay, not listening to the measured beep of the monitors and wishing he knew what to do next.

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**Aurora Musis Amica** – Thank you. The concussion was written based on my own experience with a very minor one and descriptions from someone I know who had to wrestle a match with a moderate one, so I'm very happy it came across well. And, yes, I have been considering changing the description.

**Berkie88** – Wow... That's a lot of questions. I believe most of them were either answered in the above chapter, or will be answered and me telling you would be spoilers for everybody. I will say that the situation is more or less a lose/lose all around and agree that Sally is a pretty smart cookie. I love seeing people's theories so thank you kindly.

**Saiyanzrepublik** – I'm very glad you enjoy the boys and the quotes. Hopefully, this chapter was enjoyable, too. Thank _you_ so much for reviewing.


	7. Ersatz

**Fortnight**

**Ch 07 – Ersatz**

by APs

**Betas** – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (Who are Super Fantastic! Capitalized and everything! Any problems are due to my impatience.)

**A/N** – Well, it is _a_ Friday... Yeah, I know I may have _implied_ every Friday, but I've never been a quick writer. I swear I am writing. An update on the LJ Charity Auction can be found on my author page.

Thank you kindly and I sincerely hope you enjoy! Commenting brightens my day exponentially!

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When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.  
- Lao Tzu

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Something wasn't right. That was to say, something new wasn't right. Chang Wufei had been sitting in his living room all night, reading and waiting. Though, he had been 'reading' the same line on the same page for the last forty-five minutes. The sun would be coming up soon. Yet, somehow he knew something was suddenly off about the night around him. With great care, he set aside his book and stood, padding silently to the front door. Nothing. He started methodically searching his home, ghosting first into the kitchen.

Then, something crashed, scraped, and clattered, all at once, leaving the sound of running water in its waking. Wufei jumped and swore, practically running to the bathroom. The light was off and the door didn't even give him pause, though it had been slightly ajar anyway. It was the scene inside that stopped him dead. A figure was laying sideways in his tub, legs swung over the side, pants down around their knees with only one sock and the shower curtain pulled down on top of it all. The shower was soaking everything.

For a long moment, the Chinese ex-pilot didn't know what to make of it. Then an arm appeared and shoved at the fallen curtain and rod, revealing a braided head spewing muttered curses.

Wufei scowled, "Maxwell."

"Hey, 'Fei," the American drawled out after a long squinting session. Struggling, Duo managed to lever himself against the back wall and onto his feet, bucking the downed curtain rod off his person. It revealed for a moment the bottle in his off hand and boxer shorts about his waist. Then his hand on the wall slipped and the braided man tumbled back into the shower with a yelp followed by a dark chuckle.

The Chinese man could smell the alcohol from where he stood, "You're drunk?"

"I really hope so. Otherwise, why'd I spend all that money on booze?" Duo bared his teeth in something that tried to be a grin, yet failed.

"How did you get in?" Wufei crossed his arms. "You didn't use the door."

His friend flailed a hand in dismissal, taking a pull from his bottle, "Window in my room. Wired around it last time through the system and rigged a little something myself. 'Sides, didn't wanna wake you up."

Wufei noted that sourly, but let it go. He trusted that, even drunk, none of them would actually compromise the security of a safe house, especially not Duo. However, his anger had yet to run its course, "You didn't suspect this would wake me?"

"I obviously didn't mean ta fall," Duo chuckled again. When Wufei didn't seem anymore amused, the American lolled his head forward, attempting serious. "Look, bud, I needed a shower. I reeked a bar. That's booze, butts, barf, and butt and, yeah, I said butt twice, but that was for cigarettes and, ya know, ass."

The other trailed off laughing, apparently despite himself, and Wufei glared, "So, you've been at a bar since seventeen hundred yesterday. A bar without a phone. Curious."

Duo nearly snorted a mouthful of swill, "Wow, Mother Hen Chang! Never thought I'd see the day, 'Fei."

"Don't be an idiot," black as coal eyes narrowed dangerously, eyebrow twitching. Living with a friend was a precarious situation normally. Two ex-terrorists cohabiting was an exercise in pervasive, prosaic paranoia. A fact of which, Wufei knew, Duo was perfectly aware. That the Chinese man had been on mandatory medical leave since their return, a limbo forced on him directly by Une, did not help. She was stalling, hoping he would withdraw his resignation out of sheer boredom. Apparently, she had learned less about them in the years since the war than they had thought.

The braided train wreck let the manic grin falter slightly, mopping his face with a hand, "I went to 'Ro's."

Wufei tried not to react, but felt his glare shatter abruptly, thought suspended, "...I see."

"Yeah, well," the American sniffed, taking another pull, "He had... company."

The Chinese man tried to simply wait, to let the silence work upon the other as he knew it would. But after a long moment listening to the patter of ersatz rain as it fell on the American, soaking dark hair and clothes, streaming down flushed skin, he couldn't. Pacing calmly across the bathroom tiles, feeling the other tense at his approach, Wufei kicked the downed curtain out of the way, turned off the shower, and settled on the side of the tub without a word.

The drunk man scowled, sinking further down into the tub, "He said they were just talking. Like I don't know how he looks after... Both seemed happy 'nough ta see me. Surprised, but ya know. Anyway, after that I went for a drink. Wasn't 'bout ta stay and chat, no matter what she said."

"She?" It was out of his mouth before he realized, though he had managed to keep it calmly even, sounding more prompting than curious or shocked.

Duo tipped the bottle back and held the liquor in his mouth, puckering slightly. Finally, with eyes elsewhere, he grated out, "Sally."

Wufei snorted an abbreviated laugh. So, she had seen to it that 'gorgeous' Heero hadn't been wasted. When he realized the other was scrutinizing him in all his inebriated force, he met the violet gaze easily.

"You're not mad," Duo surmised, "You're not even really surprised."

"Should I be?"

The American shrugged awkwardly, "Thought you and her had something."

Wufei grabbed the bottle and drank, letting a small smirk settle, "It was never that simple."

"Isn't that always the way," Duo drawled, letting his chin drop to his chest. Wufei drank again and nodded, watching the other, violet eyes obscured by bangs dripping water down his lower face. It was too familiar, he almost expect to find fresh bruises forming. "I knew he looked at women. Hell, we fought 'bout it enough. Not that he got why I was mad. Guess I just figured... I dunno. Thought it'd take longer."

"Neither of them have ever been subtle," Wufei reminded. He actually hadn't considered the possibility when proposing the switch in partners. He doubted it was serious, though. Heero had a broken heart and Sally Po was nothing if not independent.

"Nope," the American agreed with a lopsided grin somewhere between a grimace and a snarl. Duo thrust a expectant hand toward Wufei, drinking deeply once the bottle was his again. Almost desperately. As though trying to feed a dying fire within himself.

"What made you go?"

Duo sat for a long time, moving only to swig from the bottle. Moonlight streaming in through the small window glinted off water droplets and silvered the edges of the soaked man huddled unceremoniously in the tub. The stillness grew heavy, almost inertial, and the Chinese man found himself wondering whether it could even be escaped at this point. Then, suddenly, the line of the other's mouth slid into a sharp, nasty smile, "I knew this chick, back on L2, not much older than me. She was maybe twelve-ish when I was maybe ten-ish. Anyway, every few days she'd sneak off alone and be back by morning. Now, skulking around alone at night was not too safe and if she was holding out on us... Well, long story short, I ended up following her. She ran a few miles. We ended up in a housing district where a battle had leveled half the buildings and everything had been left to rot. She headed for this bombed out corpse of a house, to the back corner where the only two bits of standing wall came together. There was a name carved into the wall. She just stared for the longest time before she broke down crying. That's how she spent the entire night, trembling and sobbing in that corner. Just as it was getting light, she dried her eyes, stood, spat on the name and left without another look. When I asked her about it, she tried to kill me, but I worked her around until she ditched the knife and told me. Apparently, she'd been raised by some guy, a real class A perv. He'd been the only thing she remembered and he had taught her things all us street rats knew we shouldn't know, if you catch me. So, when the battle had broken out, she'd run like a bat outta hell. And she'd gotten away. Escaped to the street, to starving and scraping and thieving and... So, she'd gone back and she kept going back. When I asked why, she gave me this smile through the tears. She said to remind herself that he was gone and to make damn sure he stayed that way."

Wufei tried to keep his breaths even, gaze steady throughout the other's parable and into the sudden silence beyond. The American sipped at his liquor, seemingly giving the question and its answer no further thought. Canceling bitterness with bitterness, Wufei wondered, or was it an attempt to numb. Either way, the Chinese man snatched the bottle and finished it to cover the fact that he simply didn't want the braided man to have it anymore. The sudden motion finally brought violet eyes to his own. Duo didn't smile, nor did he balk in shock or anger. The man stared, his face still wet, drops steadily falling from his chin even though the water had been off long enough for his bangs to dry. A chill shot through Wufei at the certainty of the emptiness in those violet eyes.

And then they were gone as the American struggled to free himself, "I should get to bed. Got work in the morning and-"

Wufei moved to steady the other, dropping the bottle on the bathmat, "Let me help."

The American roughly shrugged him off and went to walk away, but his pants had settled around his ankles. Wufei grabbed about the other's waist with a smirk to keep him from sprawling onto his face. With a sharp hiss, Duo cringed slightly.

Onyx eyes narrowed, "Are you alright?"

"That's a stupid question," Duo grumbled as he brushed off the help and gingerly attempted to step out of his pants, leaving behind his one sock in the process.

One of Wufei's hands felt oddly slick and when he looked down he realized red had come off Duo's black shirt on his palm. With a huff, he snaked an arm under the braided man's arms and around his chest, pinning the other back against himself.

"Wufei! What the-" Duo yelped to be brought up short when his shirt was yanked up, revealing his slim, scarred torso and a freely bleeding wound, large bandage peeled away. The American sagged back into him, "Shit."

The Chinese ex-pilot maneuvered his friend back onto the side of the tub, then stripped the sopping wet shirt from the braided man. Keeping a firm, steadying hand on the American's shoulder, Wufei examined the wound, which appeared to be a bullet hole that had torn its stitches. Swinging a leg into the tub, he could see a bandage taped over a corresponding wound on his lower back. These were not fresh. He gently folded the bandage back over and applied pressure.

Duo was falling back on old tactics, "Hey, look buddy-"

"How long?" Wufei sliced cleanly through the dissembling, voice low and onyx eyes resolute.

Violet eyes widened slightly, then cut toward the floor, "Two weeks."

Slowly, Wufei lowered his forehead onto Duo's shoulder and sighed. He felt the other tense, a violet gaze boring into him, but he stayed perfectly still, one arm stretch across the American's back to hold the far shoulder, the other stopping up a hole in the man's side, and his head lightly resting on his near shoulder. Duo had taken a bullet and hidden it. From everyone. From him. He spoke without moving, his voice rough, "Keep pressure."

A calloused, scarred hand promptly covered, then replaced his own on the bloodied bandage and he slipped away from the other man without looking at him. Duo was smiling again, "Really, buddy, it's not that bad."

"Your post mission examinations?" Wufei growled as he went to the small closet to retrieve an emergency medical kit. It was a stupid question, since Duo had managed to hide the wound from his fellow ex-pilots, but he wanted to know nonetheless.

The American chuckled, "Like I've ever taken a test I didn't want to take."

He grit his teeth as he set the kit down and knelt before the source of his frustration.

"Hey, it was just a through and through. No big deal," Duo protested.

Wufei prepared what he needed to restitch the sutures with a graceful, practiced hand, "And how would you know that?"

Duo laughed, "I'm not dead?"

The Chinese man's head finally snapped up, the alcohol making it swim a bit and being firmly ignored. The scowl on his face could barely match the anger in his voice, "Shut up, Maxwell."

The braided man had actually leaned back away, but after a moment he snarled back, "I just didn't want anyone to worry, asshole."

"You stupid..." it trailed off into a flurry of mandarin as he burst onto his feet and away from the other, pacing in the middle of the bathroom. Finally, he stopped and just stared at the wounded man.

The American blinked, "Done? 'Cause I still need you to fix this."

"You were _shot_," Wufei expounded, trying to press upon the other the gravity of the situation.

"I've _noticed_," Duo mocked. "What's the big deal? Not like this is my first time."

Onyx eyes burned with a sudden suspicion, his voice quiet, "Is it the first since the war?"

Violet eyes glared back.

Clamping down his anger this time, Wufei started washing his hands, "That's the type of stupidity likely to get you and your partner killed."

"Don't act like you give a shit, now," the braided man spat, rising precariously to his feet. "I could have been bleeding out in the hold for all you cared!"

A chilled calm descended on Wufei as he shut off the water, "I trusted you."

"There's trust and then there's apathy and I can't help feeling a bit of the second considering you never even looked at me before you quit! And now it's turned into some dick measuring contest with Une! At least when I was fucking 'Ro I didn't have to-" The braided man stumbled and ended up on his ass, swearing a blue streak.

Wufei took a deep breath. Then he calmly went to help Duo, "Lean back before you tear the other set, too."

The American allowed himself to be helped. The Chinese ex-pilot went to work on the wound without another word and the stitching was done, a small, neat row, in a matter of minutes. The other man was shivering when Wufei finished, sitting in only wet boxers on the bathroom tile. Yet, Duo made not one sound, not even as the Chinese man had helped him back to the room in which he stayed. And that was the only way to describe the room, Wufei realized. Duo Maxwell had occupied his guest room for the better part of three months, yet the only personal touches to be seen were the elaborately rigged booby traps around the door, vent, and window. There was a packed duffle in one corner with a pair of boots on top, a single sock hanging limply from the ankle of one. Wufei took this all in as he helped the braided man sit on the perfectly made bed. Duo sat as mutely as he had during the stitching, even breaths gently moving the scarred chest, eyes down, but a single rough hand cautiously clasped about the Chinese man's wrist before he could leave.

The hand was warm and loose on his skin, yet it held him fast. Wufei stopped, looked at the hand, and stared at the mass of chestnut hair presented by the bowed head. With his free hand, he softly touched an old, jagged scar that wrapped about Duo's right shoulder. The man shivered and turned his head that way slightly. The hand on his wrist was moving upward as his hand found its way across the other's shoulder, slipping under a cold, wet mass of braid. He bent forward, resting his head atop Duo's, breathing in the smoky, sweaty scent that clung to the half wet locks.

This time, Duo didn't tense. Wufei felt the hand stop on his bicep, pulling him closer as the other shifted back onto a free arm to raise his head. And lips crashed together. All hot want, liquor and salt. Tongues skirted sharp teeth, plunged deep. Twisting. Tasting. Panting into each other. Hard and warm and wet. He stepped forward to feel the rest of the other's body, reaching with his other hand, but finding he couldn't. The hand was biting into his upper arm, holding him back and away. He stopped, the night suddenly frigid in the space between them, and waited. Half lidded, violet eyes were still avoiding him, but the smile that quirked swollen lips mocked the very idea of anything further.

Wufei closed his mouth and swallowed, forcing himself to release the back of Duo's neck. Unfolding to give the seated man the space he apparently wanted.

"'Fei..." Duo's voice was a gruff whisper, "Are you serious about resigning?"

The fingers on his restrained arm were starting to go numb, but he didn't care. He wanted violet eyes to look at him. He wanted the question to be more pertinent. He wanted to cease the other's shivers and make sure there were no more wounds. Yet, Duo sustained a cool aloofness that forced the steel back into him. Finally, all he could manage was a single cool, silky word, "Yes."

Duo nodded, "Then I'll start looking for somewhere else to live."

And his arm was released. For a long moment, breathing was the limit of Wufei's neural capabilities. When thought returned, he found that nothing had changed. Duo was sitting in front of him, head bowed, breathing slowly. He nodded in return, but all that came out was a tired sigh, "Good night, Maxwell."

Then he left without waiting for a reply he wasn't sure would come.

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The mid-morning sunlight was dazzling, streaking through the large windows when Chang Wufei opened the recovery room door. To his surprise, he found an extra set of eyes greeting him. Trowa was sitting in bed, per usual, but Une was seated primly in the visitor's chair. She was giving him a soft smile that instantly set off alarms in his head. He had become accustomed to Une over the years, that is, Director Une of the Preventer's Agency. He had also watched her behavior closely for any sign of instability or irregularity. That smile may have counted as both. The fact that all conversation had ceased when he'd entered was certainly not helping.

"Trowa," he greeted and received a nod before turning to the woman, "Une."

"Good morning, Mister Chang," Une purred, standing with an easy grace, "Agent Barton and I were just discussing business, but it's nothing that can't wait, I suppose."

So, that was it. Apparently, this was what it meant to be 'out of the loop', how Une handled civilians. He would have smirked at the novelty of it, if he'd been in any mood to do so, "At least until he's recovered from previous business, I'm sure."

The bedridden ex-pilot arched a brow at his friend, emerald eyes shifting to the Director. Une's smile sharpened ever so slightly, lending her that cunning, predatory leaning he had grown to admire, "Of course. While you're here, I do hope you've had ample time to think over, and perhaps reconsider, certain recent decisions."

"I am not withdrawing my resignation," Wufei answered point blank, tired of the dance already.

The tall woman stared at him, clear disappointment in her honey brown eyes, before nodding, "Then I am left with no other recourse than to accept it. You will stay for a transition period, strictly in an auxiliary capacity, of course, until we find a suitable replacement?"

It wasn't really a question. A question would have implied a choice. In this case, the inflection was added as nothing more than another civilian pleasantry. Wufei wondered if she was simply trying to goad him into an outburst so she could throw him in detention and buy a little more time or leverage in their negotiations. He kept himself mild, "Two weeks, I believe, is traditional."

"It is, though I'm sure you appreciate how... specialized your position is. It will be difficult to find someone with anything comparable to your unique skill set." Une eyed him carefully.

It would be pretty damn near impossible, but they all knew Une kept a list of assets ready to be tapped. A list he'd accepted he would always be near the top of, no matter what his official capacity. She likely already knew whom she would bring in to replace him, or any of the other pilots should the need ever arise. He snorted, "A month, then."

Her smile softened with satisfaction, even as her eyes lit with challenge, "Agreed. I don't look forward to the day you leave us. You've always been one of our best."

"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be."

Both sets of eyes burned against him, but he stood firm. Eventually, the Director moved toward the door, "Yes, well, I'm needed elsewhere, so I'll leave you to your visit. Good day, Agent Barton. Mister Chang."

They both muttered some appropriate farewell and watched her leave, listening to her footfalls until they were cut off by the stairwell door. Wufei keenly felt the silence falling, but went for the guest chair before even looking in the direction of his bedridden friend. For his part, Trowa was waiting blandly, appraising everything without the slightest hint of judgment, or even thought. The Chinese man stared tiredly, running a hand back over his hair.

Trowa blinked, "You realize she now thinks she has a month to change your mind."

"I do," he admitted. Honestly, he didn't care. He had yet to make a decision Une had ever influenced, much less changed. "How is your leg?"

Trowa arched an eyebrow. Of all the pilots, Wufei was probably the worst at misdirection, even when compared to Heero since it generally stemmed from a willful disregard for the practice rather than any lack of subtlety. The taller man was still considering the move when he spoke, "Better than we thought. Supposedly, the muscle kept the bone more or less in place."

"That's good." It wasn't particularly surprising. He'd always known the circus performer's sleek, slender legs had been deceptively strong, even among the pilots.

Trowa glanced out the window, "The infection cleared quickly."

Wufei nodded, "And your shoulder?"

"Healing well," the taller man noted, gingerly moving his left arm in its sling. "It was a clean through and through."

The phrase caught the Chinese man off guard, bringing a scowl to his face. Thoughts of the previous night were not yet far enough past for him to consider rationally.

It didn't escape Trowa, "How is Duo?"

"Irritating," he growled, then sighed. Watching his friend watch him triggered a hazy memory, a whispered fencing match of a conversation, "Is there a reason you and he aren't on good terms?"

An emerald eye was obscured by hair as a frowned barely bent thin lips, a rare defensive action. Trowa didn't flinch. Wufei was about to let it go when the other spoke up, "We've both been alone and betrayed and survivors. And we're both very aware of what that entailed."

It wasn't reported in any different a tone, yet Wufei felt the edge just under the surface. Very much like Duo's, subtle and hidden, yet more directed. It was the reason the taller man worked alone, the reason he only ever visited the circus for two weeks at a time. The reason he could trust someone, but push them so far away. Wufei wanted to ask more, to comprehend more completely. Instead, he glanced about the hospital room, "Where is Winner?"

"He doesn't visit me in the hospital," Trowa informed him, that soft mocking smile fondly erasing the minute frown.

Wufei's scowl darkened dangerously, "Why the Hell not? He visits everyone else."

Placid, green blinked at the sudden anger, "It brings back too much for him."

Too much of the war. He knew the sentiment, but he couldn't reconcile it with Quatre's abandonment of his lover. Then a gleefully bloodthirsty smile flashed to the front of his mind, riding on the memories of blood and pain and fear. The anger drained from him as quickly as it had swelled, "He should be here."

"What happened between you two?" It wasn't exasperated so much as inevitable, the next logical move.

Wufei leaned forward in the chair, willing for any readily available distraction, even one as confusing as the issue with his blond friend. "What do you know about Winner's Father?"

"A bit," the answer was reasonably tight lipped for the privateness of the question, "Why do you ask?"

"He said I remind him of the man."

Trowa seemed genuinely surprised by the revelation. Wufei almost expected the other man to laugh, since that was generally what followed that expression. Trowa didn't laugh, "His Father disowned him. It's the reason he's with Preventer's and not running a multinational corporation."

"I thought his sisters offered him the job anyway and he turned it down?" It was a slight challenge, meant more to draw out than to raise defenses.

Trowa paused long enough to let the other know he was well aware of the gambit, "They did. He turned it down because it was what he believed his Father would have wanted. That the company be run by a Pacifist."

Wufei snorted, "So, I remind him of a Pacifist that disowned him for fighting?"

"No," Trowa flatly refuted, "You remind him of his Father. It's not likely that simple."

What in his life was, anymore? The Chinese man pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to focus his thoughts. He was tired and a little dehydrated from Duo's infernal alcohol.

Emerald eyes missed nothing. The thought was offered as bait, "Have you ever considered how we view each other is different depending on frame of reference?"

The onyx glare was not happy at being baited, "Meaning?"

That smile tugged at the corner of Trowa's lips, "You've told us you see the five of us as your clansmen. I, on the other hand, first saw us as a mercenary group."

Wufei nodded. He understood. They each slotted the others into their own lives in ways that made the most sense. Clansmen, mercenaries, allies, gang members... He blinked, "Winner does not equate us with those Maganacs, does he?"

"In a way," Trowa laughed at the thought. The bedridden man settled himself quickly under the onyx glare, "He grew up with twenty-nine sisters. Family is a fairly elastic concept for him already."

"Family?" Wufei tested the concept, "He thinks of us as brothers?"

Trowa looked out the window again once he saw the idea he'd planted start to germinate, "It's certainly possible."

The Chinese man barely registered the throw away comment. If Quatre thought of them as siblings, then did he think of them in terms of older and younger brothers? They were all very close in age, or at least they believed themselves to be, considering three out of five didn't know their birth dates. Yet, at least in terms of general maturity, there were definite differences. Trowa would be older, but of course, in Quatre's mind, Trowa would have to be an exception. Then he realized what had happened. Trowa was making him think _like_ _Quatre_. Crossing his arms, he scowled at the man who was pretending to ignore him, "Very interesting. How do you explain that I remind him of his Father?"

"At a guess?" Emerald eyes were watching him in periphery, "I'd say he looks up to you and wants your respect."

Wufei sat for a while and just concentrated on breathing. Finally, he snorted.

Placid emerald found tired onyx, "It was a guess. Of course, there's always a way to actually get the truth."

Talk to Quatre. He knew. The conversation slackened amiably between them as it usually did at the end of a game. He'd missed this, the give and take. A part of him he hadn't known was constricted eased in the familiar company and whispered that with everything in his life that was wrong at the moment, this was right. This was right and he would deal with the rest.

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In2lalaland – I'm happy the twists are enjoyable and not simply frustrating. And, yes, Quatre continues to be his elusive self. As for the kiss, I aim to please. Thanks!

Raskanii – Thank you for, well, everything! You know what I mean.

suicidal-sinner – Here you go. Hope you like it and thanks for speaking up!

mi5tan – Nope, not a traitor. Thank you and enjoy!

yuio10 – No direct Q resolution yet, but soon. Promise. Many thanks for the kind words and the favorite!

saiyanzrepublik – The fact that it had such an impact makes me jubilant beyond expression! Really, it means a lot. I do promise I am finishing this fic, even if update periods end up being a tad lengthy. Thanks for your continuing interest!


	8. Obdurate

**Fortnight**

**Ch 08 – Obdurate**

by APs

**Betas** – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (Who are, as always, super! Show them love!)

**A/N** – Friday... Yeah, I'm not even making excuses anymore. This story has made it very clear it's going to proceed at whatever pace it likes. The amounts of Quatre in this chapter didn't help.

Thank you to everyone still reading! Comments help me more than you could know!

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Before we can forgive one another, we have to understand one another.

-Emma Goldman

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Wufei realized bitterly that the setup was familiar, conspicuously so. The cafe's patronage was slightly higher than his gloomy restaurant's had been, which could mean either open conflict was being discouraged more stringently or he was being overly suspicious. Yet, the rest seemed in line. Considering the curt invitation, a word he used very loosely, he wasn't particularly surprised. Being invited would imply that a question had been asked and he had found no query in the slip of paper with an address and time matched with the singular grunt: 'coffee'. Of course, Heero didn't make requests. The man gave the proper, observed cues to attain a desired response. In other words, this was extrinsically Wufei's own damned fault. Gruffly biting down on a sigh, he paced into the seating area.

"Wufei?" The voice was familiar and the deja vu annoying. He turned to see a genuinely startled Quatre Winner entering beside one, Heero Yuy.

"Yuy," he greeted his intended companion, though the word sounded much closer to 'touche' than 'hello'. He should have guessed.

His Japanese friend's raised eyebrows as he nodded his own salutation only confirmed it.

Finally, Wufei turned his attention fully on the blond, calmly resolute in the face of the inevitable, "Winner."

For his part, Quatre also kept his head, not readily about to give ground or panic. The blond smiled, holding fast to his initial shock, "What a pleasant surprise."

"Yuy and I had plans," he refuted serenely.

"Ah... Then I suppose I should excuse myself," the blond deftly attempted to withdraw only to find Heero's hand firmly clamped on his shoulder, deep blue glare intensely insistent.

Wufei didn't hide his small smirk before clearing his throat, "I believe our Conciliator's plans involved you as well. Let's sit."

They took a small, round table in a back corner, Quatre against one wall, Wufei on the other, and Heero solidly between. Quatre was being persistent in his front of diplomatic confusion, which allowed him to be tense without appearing to be hostile. Heero, though a successful deterrent to leaving, was obviously struggling with what exactly came next. It left a nagging suspicion in the back of Wufei's mind that this had been arranged by unseen hands. A couple possibilities sprang forward, but speculation of that sort was useless for the moment. Both captive parties watched their captor watch them for a long silent moment, ignoring each other and waiting.

Finally, Heero crossed his arms and closed his eyes, "I've agreed to be the Preventer's liaison on the next Mars tour."

"That's fantastic, Heero," the blond cheered, easing at having focus shifted elsewhere.

It was fantastic. The diplomatic tours of the Mars Colonization Project were highly coveted assignments for many Preventers. The longterm access to high profile contacts on the four month trips out and back made for promotion and networking opportunities the likes of which were unheard of in any other situation. Wufei, himself, had gone once, though more due to Une's reluctance to send any of the less disciplined, at the time green, agents than any interest in furthering his career. Still, it had proven... revelatory. Mostly in the fact that he had no interest in promotion or networking, but also cementing his acceptance of the others as his clansmen, of their necessity in his life. It also meant he was intimately aware of what the other was saying, "The one that leaves next month. The Vice Foreign Minister's tour."

Heero nodded and hummed agreement.

Quatre's smile twitched a little, quirking his face into a subtler, more genuine curiosity, "I thought the crew for that was finalized weeks ago?"

"Tanner," was the Japanese man's simple answer.

The name left a vaguely electric silence. Their traitor had been looking to become upwardly mobile, it seemed.

Heero continued with his usual clip, "I had been requested originally."

Wufei snorted. Of course, Une would want to send not only one of her top agents after their breach, but also someone with whom the diplomats in question were familiar.

"Will you be alright for fourteen months on your own?" Quatre asked, seemingly out of the blue.

The Chinese man blinked at the blond, wondering why someone would ask such a blatantly irrelevant question of anyone, much less their mutual Japanese friend, and in so earnest a manner.

However, from the way deep blue eyes cast downward with a furtive frown, Heero was obviously giving the idea serious thought, "I've contacted Noin and Relena... will be close."

Quatre nodded, then brightened, "I'll make some calls. I know Auda went out that way and a couple of my sisters are seeing after Winner construction on the MCP."

Heero returned one of his small, thankful smiles overshadowed by the intense gratitude in blue eyes.

Wufei was left to raise an eyebrow at the exchange. It was true that Heero had wandered after the war, then shadowed Relena Dorlain after the rebellion and come out of both a bit worse for wear. The Japanese man had been, if not outrightly reckless, perhaps a touch indifferent toward his own person. A trait they had all shared during the war, which the rest of them had managed to self regulate afterward. Mostly. Only once Duo had been officially attached to the Former Queen of the World as her Preventer Escort had Heero joined the organization and allowed himself to be cycled into more active duty. As Duo's partner. Yet, to think for a second that Heero Yuy, ex-pilot of Wing and Wing Zero, was not self sufficient enough to be away for fourteen months was laughable. The memory of a hidden wound brushed his thoughts. Perhaps those two had kept more important things in check than each other's tempers.

"I leave in two weeks for the staging," Heero pragmatically moved onward.

"We can combine your going away party with Wufei's," Quatre beamed, stiffly avoiding the other side of the table.

Which was probably a wise decision since this was the first the Chinese man was hearing of any such celebration. But before his surprise could solidify into a scowl, deep blue eyes were fixed on him, "Sally is prepared to take Duo as her permanent partner. Conditional on personal request."

Sally would partner with Duo if he asked her. That scowl finally won out as his suspicions deepened, "I'll see to it."

Deep blue eyes kept up their stare and cool onyx easily held it.

"I'll go order some tea," Quatre offered. Peripherally, Wufei saw the blond briefly pat Heero's shoulder, though whether to promise his return or to show some sort of support, he couldn't say.

Heero opened with the obvious, "I'm not running away."

"I didn't think you were." Heero had never been one to run from his problems. No, if his Japanese friend was moving, it was perpetually towards something and not away. The trick was pinning down the target. "The Vice Foreign Minister?"

"Seemed pleased with the substitution."

Delighted was probably more accurate. Relena had never downplayed her affections, though she had shown an admirable amount of restraint once acting upon them proved fruitless. The man had saved her life frequently enough to deserve it. She would smile her slightly tragic smile and be a steadfast friend, if that was what he wanted. If he knew what he wanted.

The silence only coaxed a slight frown from Heero, "I... need to think. I need..."

Sitting there watching his friend not fidget and not speak, Wufei understood. And accepted that this was at least partially his fault, as well. Heero was going soul searching. Or at least he was finding distance in which to evaluate himself. Going back to square one, in a way. His Japanese friend's stillness meant he was unsure, but the clarity in his deep blue eyes meant that it felt right. And Wufei needed no other reason to respect the decision. His small, tired smirk was enough to smooth Heero's brow, _"We_ will likewise be fine for fourteen months. I'll speak with Winner."

His friend nodded, tension seeming to instantly evaporate.

"Precisely how much of this was Po?" Wufei felt his smirk shift every so slightly toward amused as he indicated the coffeehouse at large.

The answering territorial glare couldn't hide the flash of recognition. Apparently, she had at least suggested parts.

He grunted a short laugh. Recognizing the woman's hallmark wasn't difficult when you had partnered her for three years. That her touch was as subtle as a brick helped.

Quatre came back, tucking away his phone in an inner breast pocket and smiling through exacerbation. The blond placed a travel cup in front of Heero before sitting, "Black coffee. Une would like a word about the chain of command and having your phone on."

Wufei raised an eyebrow, but his Japanese friend simply took a sip of his beverage and nodded his appreciation, keeping the blond under a close scrutiny.

To the Chinese man's surprise, Quatre responded by sighing and turning a smile awkwardly on him, "Our tea should be out in a minute. I hope that's alright."

"Yes, of course," he bit out evenly, blinking at the man across the table.

Heero looked between them, then stood, taking his drink in one hand and spinning his empty chair to an equally empty table with the other. He exchanged farewell nods with Wufei while laying a reassuring hand on Quatre's arm and receiving an appreciative smile. Heading for the door, he didn't even spare a look back, "Play nice."

They were left staring after him, one scowling, the other smiling sheepishly. When onyx finally shifted once more to the table's other occupant, light blue was peering back. For a long moment they sat sizing each other up, to put it indelicately. Quatre was a slender man, fair and smooth in every aspect. Even the blond's few visible scars were small and light, easily overlooked on lithe, manicured hands or beside large, expressive eyes. Poised, he concluded. The word for Quatre Winner was poised. Erudite and indefinite. Always on the cusp of action, perpetually schooled in bearing. Wufei couldn't help wondering what those sky blue eyes were attributing to him.

The blond cleared his throat, "I apologize. About the party. I know you don't like surprises, but some people simply cannot be swayed."

The statement was so loaded that the Chinese man couldn't stop the small, taunting smirk from brushing his lips. Of course this ambush now and the party to come were not Quatre's fault. The Arab man had even managed a couth warning at the first available opportunity. Wufei was aware humor dried his voice, but found nothing for it, "I am confident it will be fine."

The blond smiled, which was roughly equivalent to a hum from Heero or a nod from Trowa. That is to say, stock and rather noncommittal for an agreement.

"How is Barton?"

"Glad to be out of the hospital. Impatient to be out of bed," Quatre chortled fondly. Trowa had been discharged the prior week, mostly because he was healing quickly and all he really needed was rest. Though it was also partially due to the fact that Une knew damn well the limits of the green eyed ex-pilot's patience and paranoia. Trowa would be spending the rest of his convalescents at home, with his lover.

Wufei snorted, "Undoubtedly pleased enough to simply be with you again."

The blond's grimace masquerading as a smile vaguely made his skin crawl. The Chinese man was bolstering for an all out frontal assault when a waitress whisked toward their table. She set a small, slender glass in front of them both. It appeared to be green tea with a slight head on it, but wafted of sweet, fresh mint. The waitress was older than them and was quick to fix a matronly smile on Quatre after the merest glance over the table.

"Please enjoy."

His blond friend smiled back gently, "I'm sure we will, Amira."

"If you need anything at all," the woman cheered.

"We will be sure to let you know. Thank you very much." Quatre was level, yet grateful and the server left. She would likely be checking on them every five minutes. Wufei found himself suddenly envious of Quatre's easy rapport with just about everyone. Everyone excluding apparently him. It was novel. He had caught himself envying Duo's social camouflage, Heero's technical perfection, Trowa's mental practicality, and even Quatre's tactical intuition. Yet, the blond's simple communicative confidence had escaped him. Perhaps because it never showed toward him. The darker man found himself wondering if one could covet and curse something at the same time and reasoning that if Shakespeare proved anything, then most certainly yes. Though it generally made you a villain.

Under an internally focused onyx gaze, Quatre was making a show of enjoying his drink. Wufei attempted to follow suit. It was definitely green tea with mint, brewed strong and sugar sweet. It reminded Wufei of a brief stay in North Africa, after Lake Victoria. The early war. Before he had met any of the others. When he had been all mournful vengeance and righteous indignation.

He must have looked surprised because his lighter companion explained, "It's a Moroccan style. If you don't like it, I could arrange something else."

"This is fine." Wufei peered into the small, ornate glass, wondering if they usually served this, or if that Winner smile had simply charmed a favor from their accommodating server.

"We had a chef, on L4 when I was young, who had been in my mother's personal retinue," the wistful note in the other man's voice made onyx eyes glance up. Quatre, however, was staring off into the shop, glass poised absently by his lips, "He would brew this for me. He claimed it had been her favorite."

"Did your Father like it?"

The blond took a small sip, "He preferred black tea."

Wufei knew silence would not work against Quatre; the man was too cultured for the absence to be unsettling. Doubtless, the Winner heir had been trained to respect and use it to his advantage. Much like Wufei, himself. Conceivably, they could pass the rest of the evening in carefully pleasant silence, like gentlemen of breeding. It was enough to force a scowl back to Wufei's face.

Instead, he offered reciprocation, hoping a shift in focus would help, "My Grandmother used to grow mint in our garden. There was a field of flowers in the hub where I grew up. Vast, arching with the wheel. My mother would take me there to play and once I tired, she would read to me. When I returned from boarding school, I would spend hours there."

"A field of flowers?" Pale blue eyes had finally landed on him, puzzled.

"Hm. For oxygen cycling," the Chinese man explain further, as though it were obvious, right before realizing the blond likely had no concept of such a thing. For all their fierce reputation, which they promoted with near equal ferocity, the clans of L5 were largely agricultural. It was how so few people had managed to make such old colonies habitable without the support of a home nation, which their exile took from them. Most of what they ate or wore, they grew and every L5 child learned the value of plants right along with their clan history.

The horror on Quatre's face was mild, obviously attempting to mask it with concern, but it was there, "Was there something wrong with your oxygen farms?"

"No." Of course, any colonist would jump to that bone chilling question. Oxygen farms were the vast hydroponic facilities every colony had tucked under the living area of the hub. Row upon row, floor upon floor of fast growing, CO2 consuming flora, roots obscenely suspended in only the section of the spectrum they needed to photosynthesize. Food and air with cheapest efficiency. L5 had them, but they also had fields and streams and gardens. The air smelled clean, sweet, and you could almost hear the place growing after a rain. How did one explain something like that?

"Your colony must have been beautiful," Quatre's soft voice gently pulled the other from his reflections.

Wufei hadn't realized how far he'd drifted, clearing his throat, "I have no words to describe it properly. I can only compare it to the wildernesses on Earth, but wanting the apathy of nature toward man."

"The apathy of nature toward man..." The blond parroted under his breathe. For a second, it looked as though he'd add something, but then the blond smiled, "L4 is all buildings."

Wufei grunted acknowledgment. He'd been to other colonies and still couldn't quite reconcile the polluted, urban hubs with what he'd known growing up.

"That's what my family does: build. We create. Colonies, houses, skyscrapers, machines, tools, people, empires, dynasties..." Pale blue eyes were elsewhere again, half lidded, "I was... I have twenty-nine sisters. All of their names I bear in my heart, yet I am unsure how many I would now recognize. They were all test tube born. I was number thirty, engineered to be a widowers heir."

That was no secret, yet the way Quatre had said it made it seem preciously personal. As though the admission were something more. The problems on L4 and their solution were well known. The oblique reference to the Winner patriarch stood out brightly, but pushing the subject hadn't gotten him anywhere before. Perhaps a different approach, "Those soldiers of yours were also test tube born, were they not?"

The look the blond leveled at him was the same he was used to getting from Trowa when he made a particularly unexpected chess move. Open and noncommittal. He wondered if their mutual green eyed friend had actively mimicked his lover, or if the two had simply been together long enough to be unconsciously swapping expressions. "The Maganac Corps. Yes, they are."

"I suppose you know each of their names as well," Wufei huffed easily, leaking a little arrogant disbelief into it. Perhaps Quatre wasn't the family man Trowa credited him.

"Of course," the blond croaked, balling a fine fist in his fine shirt over his heart. "Them, their spouses, their children, their grave sites... We've shed blood with and for each other, how could I not."

Or perhaps he should know better than to second guess Trowa's insights considering his apparent inability to get a grasp on the man before him. He snorted gruffly at himself, trying to make his voice more gentle and likely failing, "Of course."

"Everything alright, sirs?" Amira broke in and solicited of Quatre, stealing accusatory glances at Wufei.

With an easy fluidity, the blond beamed tiredly up at her in what seemed the most natural response imaginable, "Perfect. Though a little more tea certainly wouldn't hurt, if you would be so kind."

The waitress broke into a calm grin, concern vanished, though she did eye Wufei as she freshened his glass. The Chinese man watched critically as they exchanged parting pleasantries, then she was gone and they were alone again.

In the calm that followed, Wufei tried to mentally run down what Trowa had told him. They knew each other based on frame of reference, he'd said. A clan may have positions, heirs and elders and leaders, but every adult member was considered an equal. Clansmen were respected and honored or they would not be clansmen. Family did not necessarily work that way. Maybe their frames of reference weren't as similar as they'd assumed. Not that family history was a topic they frequented around the others, or at all really. They were just the ex-pilots from rooted backgrounds. Certainly, it was more than any of the rest had in common and maybe that was the problem.

Onyx eyes bore into his fairer friend in an attempt to make his declaration as plain as possible, "My parents were warriors, scholars, and farmers. Their marriage was arranged. What memories I have of them, I cherish." He paused, but seeing the blond across the table baldly surprised, continued before the other could derail his thought, "I understand your father was a Pacifist."

Quatre nodded carefully, even though a question had never really been asked. "Farmers?"

"Hydroponic engineers," Wufei clarified, nodding in his turn. This was good, this exchange. Uncomfortable, but good. Yet it was only fill in the blank type information. Basic. He needed to think like Quatre. Emotionally, strategically. To think like... a sonnet. He cleared his throat and would have fidgeted if he hadn't stopped himself, "Deciding to fight must have been... difficult. Going against him."

Large, pale blue eyes only seemed capable of blinking at him. Slowly, the Arabian man guided his glass back to the table top from where it had frozen halfway to his lips. When he spoke, it was low and even, "I could not abide inaction. Doing nothing chafed, worse for the fact that my family seemed so powerful. To have so much influence and not do anything seemed irresponsible. Unconscionable. Cowardly."

Indignation flared in Wufei's chest and he wondered when he'd started identifying with a man whose name he barely knew, not to mention had never met. Probably when his son had associated them. He didn't try to keep the scowl from his features, though he did endeavour to hold the disapproval from his voice, "You thought your father a coward?"

"I was wrong." Quatre replied quickly and, to Wufei's astonishment, with some steel behind it. The blond finally managed to take a drink as pale blue eyes finally and truly met onyx, half lidded and stormy. Tired of drought like thunderheads over desert. "Power without mastery is dangerous. Recklessness is unconscionable. Murder, cowardly. I was very wrong, a fact I proved several times over. New Edwards, Siberia, Zero."

Thunderheads over the desert... The apathy of nature to man... Gazing into pale blue eyes, it seemed so fitting for Quatre to be drawn to Earth's harsher climes. There was something unmistakably primal in those eyes, visceral, yet so strongly guarded, braced. Poised. A man driven by intuition, emotion, raw and harsh, frightened by the very drive of it. The blond was not intimidated by him, as he had feared, but envious of his control. Or perhaps envious of his mastery over his passions? The longer he thought on it, the more it fit, sad conclusion that it was. Formalities grated when they were a forced reminder of your lapses and losses. Disowned only to abdicate for fear of himself. The blond may have mastered the Zero system eventually, but apparently fighting for peace was just as irreconcilable as it sounded. Wufei sighed, "I made mistakes."

"But did you make regrets?" Quatre pushed wearily.

Wufei opened his mouth to growl something terse, but stopped. Did he regret? Not stopping the others at New Edwards, dueling Khushrenada, saving Po, the rest of the war? No. Killing Khushrenada? Maybe. The Mariemaia Rebellion? ...No. As wrong as it had been, it had been equally necessary. Shame, sure. Regret, oddly no. The loss of his colony, his home, went beyond regret. It had been an immolation he still couldn't quite fathom. Left him wondering how, if, his sanity remained intact. Loss of home, of self, of control. It was enough to make a man question himself.

Something about him must have shifted in understanding, because the Arabian man smiled at him. Not one of his nervous, stock smiles, but the first genuine smile he'd received in months. It was a small, sad thing. Unsure of the status this new familiarity would bring, but happy it had been reached nonetheless.

Wufei frowned. Clansmen should be equals and, unfortunately, he could only think of one way to even things out between them. "My clan was destitute. I was forced to sell our jade guardian, Altron, for supplies and munitions. All we had was our reputation, our traditions, and each other. I didn't give a damn about the Earth Sphere, we were barely surviving. I am proud and logical and it has cost... a great deal." The words sounded surprisingly smooth considering how they ground to a halt in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to the point, "I have regrets and I am not your better."

"Wufei..." It was quiet and trailing, as though the articulation had drifted on the wind. Pale blue under arched golden brows were all questions Quatre knew better than to unleash.

"Before we can forgive one another, we have to understand one another."

"There's nothing to forgive," Quatre vehemently assured, suddenly straight backed.

The Chinese man studied his friend as he sipped from his glass, "I disagree."

They let the silence grow between them again. The ambient chatter of the cafe caught Wufei off guard, making him sweep the room. It was odd, seeing so many snapshots of so many lives. Families and lovers and friends and coworkers. People, together, living. Not one carrying a weapon. It still shocked him how quickly things had changed. Everything had changed. It was a simpler thing to forget the world, forget the changes. To cling to danger and action and anger and pride and reputation and tradition. Simpler than change. But that wasn't living and he had made a promise.

"It's a poor approximation."

Onyx eyes fell on the blond, but the other was eying the crowd.

Quatre continued, thoughtfully, "That you _remind_ me of him. It's more of a feeling. I don't think I can explain it."

"Try."

The blond nodded, "It's obdurate determination when necessary and generally strong warmth that can burn cold. Anger and drive. It's respect and distance and, under everything," he frowned as though nothing sounded right, then pale blue eyes were focusing on the Chinese man as though attempting to read the word, "tragic."

Wufei held the other's gaze. The blond sat poised for a reaction that didn't seem to come. The darker man smelled mint, listened to the cafe and remembered. "Perhaps I am."

"You shouldn't be," there was an odd amount of force to it. The blond seemed caught between being angered and being scared, both apparently toward himself. "You shouldn't have to be, not anymore. Not with us."

"It's not your fault."

The blond raised his glass, poised to contradict or acknowledge. He did neither, "I'm sorry, Wufei."

"So am I, Quatre."

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It was cold. So cold. Metal at his back, leeching heat. Cuffs biting at his wrists and ankles. Heavy, cold, and tight, drawing steaming blood. His breath curled, misty, from his lips. Up. Into darkness. To nothing. He couldn't move. Wanted to panic. To move. To breathe faster. To twitch. Nothing. He panicked anyway. The air thinned, coating bitter frost on his tongue. Slipping lungs. Cold gnawed at his fingers, toes. Paralyzed. Staring. Black void staring back. Not nothing, but space. A human can survive hard vacuum for two minutes. His lungs deflated. Sound stopped. Dead. He swelled as water boiled from his muscles. Cutting pain, blood boiling.

L5 hung in the twinkling distance. Whole. The Gundams drifted between. Mangled. Defeated. And he knew it was Nataku at his back. Leeching. Dying. Useless.

Then came the light of detonation. Anticipated and unwanted, yet he couldn't not watch. The death flare burned. Swallowed, consumed. Killed. Gutted him, forced to watch even the explosion fade. Leaving nothing. Tears froze slowly. Crystals crawling across his vision, stabbing. Blinding. The pain stayed. Cutting, tearing, gnawing. Lungs burned, everything else froze. Feeling his body die, cell by cell. Unable to even struggle against the inevitable. He started to float. Drifting away.

Nothing to do. Freezing. Helpless. Dying. Alone.

Nothing...

A hand wrapped about him. Warm, almost scalding in the cold. Anchored him, drew him back, against something solid and real and just as shockingly warm. Hot breath rushed against his neck, around his ear and air flooded his starved lungs.

"...to keep breathing, 'Fei. In. Out. In. Out. One. Two. Good." The voice was low and gruff and calm in a rhythmic, rambling sense. The world was suddenly warmth and fabric. Something was gently stroking his hair. Trembling, he allowed himself to settle into this odd new turn of events, feeling his body reassuringly obey.

Then, the voice continued, relief clear, "There. That's better. Worst should be over now. Maybe you'll even get some sleep. Just listen to my voice and calm down. Let it go."

Sensation slowly tingled back to his limbs. He wasn't bound, wrists nor ankles. The pillow beneath his head was damp, the smells familiar. His eyes were reluctant to open, but when they did, it was to the morning dark of his own room.

"Wonder why you don't wake up. Not that I'm complaining, since you'd likely kick my ass for this, if you knew. But, man, must be some Hell you're going through."

His mind froze, finally understanding what had just been said. For a long moment, all he could do was focus on controlling his breathing and heart rate. The hand brushing through his hair paused, but only for a moment.

"Don't know if you believed me or not, but we all really do get these. It's nothing you gotta hide. Not that I should talk." The voice kept whispering into his ear, like a mother crooning soft, even nonsense.

Then he realized _the_ voice was _Duo's_ voice. The rough hand on his chest of the arm that was wrapped about his torso was Duo's, holding him against Duo's body.

Then, Duo was talking again, "I've been told I ball up so tight it's like I'm trying to vanish inside myself. Quatre clings. The guy grabs whatever's closest and strangles the crap out of it. Apparently, Trowa cries silently and thrashes when touched. Probably a bad combo there. Heero would go stiff and move like he was fighting, like he was back in a damned cockpit. Also, he'd growl. First few times that surprised me, but I think you're the worst."

He was awake enough now to feel the sheets on top of him, to know that his body would move, if he wanted it to. It didn't want to. And it really did. He knew he should. Probably. Maybe. Listening seemed wrong, but he wasn't sure he trusted himself. Plus, now he was curious.

He didn't get long to argue with himself, "Yeah, you're the worst. Every muscle in your body tenses, then you choke and stop breathing like that. Scared the hell out of me that first time, I tell ya. So, there I am, keeping watch outside your door at two, like usual, and your breathing just stops. Almost gave you mouth to mouth. You don't wake up either. I yelled and pulled the blankets off, shook you. Well, you know how that ended, I guess... Anyway, you've been nightly the last two weeks now. Maybe I'm just making it worse, but then again, you didn't do it when we were captured. I hope they weren't always this bad. You could have told us. Not that you tell us much of anything and, hey, that's your choice. I respect that. Its just, every time you stop breathing, so do I... just for a second. Like the moon, you know. Stupid, right, but... Guess that sticks with you. I expected death to be bloody and painful and a mass of fiery confusion. Or, maybe, a knife to the gut, a bullet to the brain. You know, violent. Never thought about slow, cold panic. Course, death's never cared about my expectations before."

The silence was velvety warm, like everything else. Like the breath bathing his neck, the heat of another body. He swore every lethargic heartbeat would be his last in the surreal half dreaming his body had settled, but they just kept coming, mixing with the pulse behind him, melding. It tingled, the contact, tingled and stimulated and warmed. And just when it became too much, it was gone. Breath stilled, hands disentangled. Fabric rustled, the sheets tugging. When everything was silent again, the weight of another body was still beside him, heat still at his back, barely touching, arching away. A thick braid brushed his shoulder. Back to back.

Duo sighed, sounding far away and slightly muffled, "Things'll be back to normal soon."

Something about the word 'normal' felt ominous. Without thinking, Wufei's hand reached back. Duo's arm jumped under his touch, sliding down to find a hand, raising goosebumps in his wake. Feeling smooth skin and hard scars and rough callouses, he twined their fingers, held fast. Closing his eyes, he focused on the heat in his hand, "You could stay."

In the stunned silence, he couldn't even hear the other breathe. He waited. Finally, the hand in his twitched to life. It closed about his and squeezed, but only for a second before falling away. There was a whisper of fabric, a shift in weight, and before he could even turn, his door had clicked closed. Gone. Like a ghost. Like he'd never been there. Wufei stared at his ceiling, breathing the cool night air and listening the the stillness of the world. Serene, familiar, and... wrong.

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**Aurora Musis Amica** – Thanks for commenting! It's always a treat to hear from familiar readers!

**Fairy5706green** – Thank you very much. Fortnight started purely as a study in character interaction and forced itself into more, so I like to think it has a bit of gravity. Even when it wanders a bit. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

**Saiyanzrepublik** – What can I say, musing comments like yours make _my_ week. So, what do you think? Did I lay it out well? The dynamic between Q and 'Fei intrigues me because they interacted so rarely. And, yes, I totally agree Wufei is greatly underrated.

**Dimes Wish** – Thanks for reading and your kind words! I don't really see any of the boys as victims, whiny, or flat, so I try not to write them that way. As for the line, I like it too. If you use it, all I want is a link.

**Darkrevenge –** Heh, I often lament that Wufei has a better vocabulary than me. I'm glad you liked drunk Duo, I had quite a good time writing him, much like the revelation scene, though obviously in a different way. As for the proposal and telling Heero, Wufei is flying blind and honesty is kind of his default. At least as I see it. Not the smartest thing maybe, but honourable. If this story has taught me anything, it's that I like writing 'Fei as a tragic figure. Thank you kindly and I hope you enjoy the rest!

**Frost in Flanders Field** – Name change almost threw me. The idea grew on me slowly. Quatre less irritating? I know Duo isn't any more scrutable just yet. Thanks, again!

**Hellcat81** – Wow, thank you for all of your comments. I'm happy I can keep your interest, even it I did go a little out of your usual zone. You're right about the shirt thing, I was going to have Wufei more fastidious and prudish, but it never really came out and now that part does feel odd.

**PhoenixMageFire** – Thank you kindly. I hope you find the rest equally so.

**Thrashing-light** – Yes, I promise this fic will be finished. I'm also very happy you enjoy it. Many thanks!


	9. Vicissitude

**Fortnight**

**Ch 09 – Vicissitude**

by APs

**Betas** – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (I honestly don't know how they put up with me.)

**A/N** – So, yes, this is the last chapter. An epilogue of sorts may be forthcoming, depending on interest and/or how much this sticks in my brain. The poem is _Gifts_ by Sara Teasdale. I opened to anonymous reviews, not having realized they were closed.

I hope you enjoy! Now is the time to give me some love, or yell at me in frustration. Your call.

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All life is a manifestation of the spirit, the manifestation of love.  
-Morihei Ueshiba

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This wasn't where Wufei wanted to be. The conference room was crowded, warm, and flooded with conversation, making even the large area oppressive. The fact that the gigantic banner hanging across a wall blatantly declared him one of the focuses of the gathering didn't help his mood. A steady stream of people had been presenting themselves to him all day, expressing well wishes for the future and regret at his leaving. Some even managed to meet his eyes.

He'd weathered it all, including Une's speech at the beginning of the after hours party, with great aplomb, so he thought. He had yet to even growl at a single ex-coworker, much less snap any necks. However, the berth everyone was giving him since evidenced his irritation. It was his last day and he wanted it to be over. He had already patiently served his month.

Staring out the window at the grey and the rain, he noticed a calm presence beside him and didn't have to look to know it was Trowa. He wasn't at all in the mood for games, "Yes, Barton?"

"The others sent me to get you," amusement brushed his tone like a blush, warm and barely visible on the surface.

Wufei's eyebrows arched, "You mean Winner sent you."

His taller friend tilted his head and took a hand from its pocket to make a vague gesture that it was the same thing.

Wufei snorted, but turned and motioned for his friend to lead on, "How are you healing?"

"Well." There was a pause as a green eye glanced toward him, "Everything seems nearly resolved."

"Good," the Chinese man bit out, staunchly ignoring the undercurrents.

That small mocking smirk was tugging at Trowa's lips, "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"Une offered me a position in Training and Recruitment."

"And?"

Onyx eyes shifted back toward the windows, "I haven't decided."

He knew the other had nodded without looking. They entered one of the smaller side offices off the main conference room, usually reserved for those rare outsiders that periodically found themselves at Preventer briefings. The others were waiting.

"There you are," Duo drawled, hanging off Quatre and grinning like a fool, "I was just about to suggest a rescue party."

Heero harrumphed from where he sat at the stout table.

Wufei didn't miss the pale hand firmly holding Duo's free shoulder, or the slightly manic light in violet eyes as they darted from him and avoided Heero entirely. His gaze fell passively to Quatre, "You wanted something?"

The blond Arab smiled at him easily, "We wanted to give you your gifts."

"Gifts," the word trailed dubiously, as though he didn't trust it. He had thought they were past the 'office gifts' section of the evening, which had followed swiftly on the heels of Une's speech. She had taken his jacket, badge, and issued sidearm in exchange for a watch that was currently weighing down his pocket. Then, his fellow agents had presented him with a 'gag' gift of a voucher for a free course in flower arranging, the joke being that he now needed new hobbies. The laughter had died quickly under his cold stare, though he had found it privately amusing that he likely could teach the course himself.

Duo made an exaggeration of a rude noise, "_Parting_ gifts."

Wufei looked back to the blond, who smiled and indulged in a shrug, "Trowa and myself are taking a short sabbatical."

"The circus is in 'Ayla," Trowa offered calmly, practically limpid, as he moved from Wufei's side to lean against the wall, closing their small circle. On the rare occasions Catherine's circus meandered its way through the desert, Trowa and Quatre took vacation. Guaranteed. With Trowa still recovering, it made sense. The prospect of seeing Cathy was one of the few things that truly cheered the ex-mercenary, cleared the cagey melancholy from his eyes. Time with Quatre was also on the short list. Time spent in the desert, with Trowa and the Maganac, would likewise do Quatre good.

With Trowa on Duo's other side and Wufei in front of the door, Quatre finally relinquished his hold on their braided friend to pick up the paper bag at his feet. Duo made an elaborate show of a stretch, but after eying his options, ended up with his arms crossed over his chest, feigning disinterest. After a moment, the blond produced a large jeweler's box and offered it to the American.

Violet eyes flicked between the present and the blond skeptically, "Am I going somewhere, Q?"

"Everyone gets something, Duo," Quatre assured, though his tone was a bit too knowing. It was an old custom. Quatre liked to mark special events with presents. Generally, expensive presents he would pass off as coming from all of them, though they all knew the truth.

"What about Tro?" Duo grumbled, jerking a thumb to his side.

The blond discreetly cleared his throat, "We already exchanged... tokens in private."

Duo seemed about to push the issue until Trowa nudged him firmly with his foot. The braided man broke, letting a sheepish smile cover his hesitance. With speed that belied the care of the action, the American opened the box and studied what he found inside. Wufei could make out the familiar form of a digital compass, a favored present of the Winner heir's. The blond was very fond of symbolism, especially in gifts. This particular one was matte black with white and gold accents. Wufei imagined the read out was a haunting emerald, much like on his own. It would be made of Gundanium, though damned if he knew how their Arab friend had managed it. When Duo finally looked up, he was grinning and scratching the back of his head, "Uh, thanks, man."

Quatre just smiled at him, then handed a similar box to Heero.

Their Japanese friend nodded as he accepted it and paused, deep blue considering Duo's open gift. Finally, he opened it and picked up the small device inside. It was no larger than a playing card and nearly as thin. As soon as he lifted it, a picture flicked on. A familiar picture of all of them, taken in Heero's hospital room after the Mariemaia Rebellion.

"It's a prototype," Quatre explained. "It's a secure, long distance gateway to the Winner Network and private servers. It also has all the program codes, should you feel like making any changes."

Heero hummed, already flicking through screens into the heart of the tiny machine. Heero never articulated his thanks, though the contented smile on his lips was unmistakable. No, the Japanese man would simply have presents for each of them when he returned. Heero's gifts were always small and personal, as though he were making up for all the little things he never said. Trowa's gifts were practical and timely, while Duo's tended toward the spontaneous and fun, often disposable. Wufei's giving practices could be summed up in a single word: appropriate. And, though he could find no real fault with the idea, it did seem suddenly cold by comparison.

His musings were abruptly halted by a fine wooden case, larger than the others, yet smaller than a shoe box. It had a small lock on the front from which a delicately wrought key projected. Wufei arched an eyebrow at the blond presenting it to him.

Quatre sighed, probably at the thought of their usual routine of decline and insistence, and smiled fondly, being direct, "Wufei, please just take it."

The Chinese man opened his mouth to object, but stopped himself. With a smirk and a bow, he accepted the case, twisted the key, lifted the lid... And stared. It felt like someone had punched him, like there was no air. His hands were white knuckled, clutching the case, but he felt weak, unstable. Somehow, he managed to force a whisper, "How?"

Quatre's voice answered, tinged with concern, "Heero found a picture and we all checked with our old black market contacts from the war. Duo got a hit and Trowa traced the art collections, then it was just a matter of procurement."

And no one was better at procurement than a Winner. He couldn't breath, couldn't take his eyes from it. It sat, nestled in the velvety depths of its case, gleaming, staring back at him with two sets of eyes. Wufei swallowed to wet his throat, but his voice cracked on the name anyway, "...Altron."

The other's must have been exchanging glances, silently conferring, because Duo's low gruff voice offered his opinion, "Why don't we give you a moment."

Wufei didn't answer, more concerned with carefully placing the case on the table so as not to drop the jade dragon inside. Once it was out of his hands, he breathed and blinked away the blur that had abruptly threatened his vision. Written on a card in the lid he had entirely missed was an inscription: _For__old__Memories,__new__Beginnings,__and__Forgiveness._

The silence must have been taken as agreement since the other ex-pilots all started to leave. Duo darted immediately. Heero looked to Quatre, who nodded slightly toward the door as Trowa began to steer him out by the shoulders.

"Wait," Wufei barked, halting them just in time. The Chinese man turned, back straight, head high, and gave a deep bow. His voice was thick, "Thank you." He straightened and locked onyx with pale blue eyes, "Thank you, Quatre."

In his periphery, he was aware of Heero's curt nod of approval and Trowa's tiny, satisfied grin. However, it was the way the blond almost seemed to glow, even with tears welling, that made Wufei smirk. Then, they left him alone with the last piece of his former life. He stared at it, an anachronism, a guardian, a gift. Old memories and new beginnings.

About ten minutes later he was ready to brave the party once more. The crowd had thinned significantly. It left the room with an odd chill, the building overcompensating for the body heat no longer present. He went in search of something to drink and found Sally. She smirked at him over her plastic cup. He ignored her until he had negotiated something to quench his parched throat from the remains of the punch bowl and scraped out a second.

Not one to be ignored, Sally quirked a brow, "Hello, Stranger."

"Po," he offered softly, mind still fumbling over the contents of the case in his hand.

Her teasing smirk faltered, but she easily gestured toward the nearby conference table, "It's been a while."

Wufei nodded, taking a seat and swiveling it toward his former partner, "Une has been keeping me busy since... my leave. I hope you've been practicing your forms."

"Everyday, Master Chang," she snapped an Alliance salute.

Usually, he would have scowled and snarled something, but his only response was a frown as he cast a distracted glance at the case on the table, fingering the key in his palm. Master...

Sally dropped the smirk, "Is this because of Heero and me?"

"What?" Wufei shook himself from his thoughts and actually looked at the woman. Her round face and discerning eyes were carefully neutral, the small bow of her lips alone marking her concern. Despite her rather open definition of friendship, Sally did take her relationships seriously.

She remained mild, forthright without being defensive, "Do Heero and I upset you?"

He blinked at her, "Don't be absurd."

"Oh, right." The woman rolled her eyes, but was smiling again as she leaned back into her chair. "I'd almost forgotten who I was talking to."

He almost corrected her grammar. However, a more pressing question came first, "Why ask?"

"Well," she sighed, leaning to prop her elbow on the arm of the chair so her hand could hold her head, "My mornings have been fairly lonely. I'd just assumed."

Wufei snorted to make clear his stance on assumptions.

"I realize I probably didn't help your situation, but Heero... He needed someone," she stared at him blatantly, daring him to question her meaning. The phrase was a common one between them in their early days. Simple. True. It kept them honest. Sally chuckled darkly, "Besides, he was curious about the female body."

Understandable. Female bodies were curious things. He watched her for a long moment, head resting in her hand as she smiled at him, her other hand resting lightly on her lower stomach, and legs crossed. There was something particularly striking about her that seemed just out of his grasp at the moment, almost intangible.

"So, what's actually the problem then?" He quirked an eyebrow and she loosed a throaty laugh.

Once again he marveled at the woman's intuition, "Une made me an offer."

She hummed appreciatively, "Training and Recruitment. They'd be lucky to have you."

The Chinese man brushed away the flattery, "I left for a reason."

"You left active duty," she clarified. Her free hand started tracing tiny circles unconsciously on her stomach, "I've been considering a transfer to the Health Division myself. No one can fight forever. No one should have to."

He nodded slowly.

"You have nothing but options, kid," Sally teased with a fond smile, "Pick one."

That brought a smirk back to his lips.

"Speaking of Duo," Sally Po, subtle as ever, "he asked me to give you this."

He took the large book of poetry from her with a scowl. It was the one he'd lent the American three months earlier. A bookmark stuck out the top and he immediately opened to it, finding it nothing more than a folded piece of paper from a Preventer issue memo pad. In Duo's unmistakable chicken scratch was scrawled a number of headings with lists beneath them. _Blank__ Verse: __-Traditional, __yet __flexible. __-Unexpected __cohesion. __-Range__ of __topics. __Clerihew:__ -Funny. __-Blunt. __-Too __irreverent? __Villainelle: __-Um...__no. __Free __Verse:__-Versatile, __but __informed. __-Finds __its __own __way. __-Unique. __Elegy: __-Loss. __-Respect __and __honor. __-Traditional, __yet__ relevant. _Elegy was circled. Frowning ever more deeply, he looked at the page that had been marked. A single short poem occupied one page, a short biography of the poet claimed its mirror. Gradually, he lost all color as his eyes traced the two stanzas.

I gave my first love laughter,  
I gave my second tears,  
I gave my third love silence  
Thru all the years.

My first love gave me singing,  
My second eyes to see,  
But oh, it was my third love  
Who gave my soul to me.

Fear clawed at his stomach and he had to swallow before he could speak, "When did he give this to you?"

Sally shrugged, "Before he left. It was strange. I thought he was going to ask me to be his partner, but he just-"

Wufei tore through her with a snarl, "_When_, Po?"

The heat in his voice snapped her attention back to the Chinese man and she grew still, her voice softening, "Around fifteen minutes ago."

He nodded and stood, but stopped dead, fixated on the case beside him.

Sally saw his hesitation and sighed. Slipping the book from his hand and laying it atop the case, she settled both in her lap. Guarded, safe. "Go."

He bent and gently kissed her forehead. Her lips were a taunting smile, her eyes a laughing refusal. Then he was headed for the door.

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Chang Wufei made the thirteen minute drive home in under four, which was still four too long for his liking. The house was deceptively normal in the grey and the rain. It sat, unperturbed, as though ignorant of any and all vicissitude. Once inside, though, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. Or at least it felt so to Wufei. Each step seemed heavier, despite being faster. He fairly sprinted into his guest room and swore. The duffle was missing, as were all traces of traps on the various entry points, the bed was made. Duo was gone.

His mind went blank for a torturous instant, cold creeping up his spine before he banished it with motion. Duo hadn't taken anything, it appeared, and that included a mode of transport. The American would not call for a car or taxi, too traceable. Stealing one at this time in this part of town would be sloppy, at best. Breaking from Preventers and the other pilots meant breaking with his known associates, too. So, that left mass transit. Wufei mentally mapped his area and dredged up the schedules of the stops closest to him. The neighborhood was quiet, well away from major thoroughfares and that gave Wufei hope. Hope that his braided friend hadn't expected him to react so quickly. And that spurred him forward.

He ran to his car. Duo would be on foot and walking, less conspicuous. Each moment that passed screamed a thousand possibilities and probabilities to tear at Wufei's nerves, no matter how illogical some seemed. Duo was nothing if not unpredictable. The Chinese ex-pilot grit his teeth, biting back the bitter thoughts of another empty room found in another time, another life.

He was nearly at the coach stop and cursing as he mapped out secondary and tertiary routes when he saw him. A man in black, weighed down with wet fabric and a duffle bag. He was hunched defensively against the now large, driving raindrops and the braid was nowhere in sight, probably down his shirt, but Wufei knew that rangy stride. Languid even in discomfort. He hit the brake and burst from his car, dashing after the figure. Wufei grabbed the man's shoulder and he spun on the spot instantly, crashing them together in an unexpected halt.

Violet eyes blinked at him from under matted down bangs, so very much closer than anticipated, "'Fei?"

Onyx stared evenly back, becalmed, "Maxwell." Wufei dropped his gaze very deliberately between them, to the gun jammed into his ribs, "Expecting someone else?"

"I wasn't..." Duo let it trail, swallowing hard, ingesting the rest of the thought. The gun vanished back into sopping clothes as smoothly as it had appeared and just as inconspicuous. Biting his lower lip at the growing silence, he stuttered back a step, "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same," the Chinese man scowled.

Duo gave a weak shrug, "Thought I'd give Hil a visit."

"And then come back," Wufei annunciated crisply, each word needle sharp. "Right?"

Violet eyes stared back at him, hollow and dim, but his mouth just smiled.

Wufei cursed.

"Oh, so everyone can fuck off, but me, huh? What's it matter?" Duo growled, turning to leave.

Like a flash, Wufei had him, reeling him in nose to nose. Onyx eyes burned, his voice deathly quiet, "It matters. A known terrorist out in the world without oversight and on the lam. You'll be flagged as a threat. You would be hunted down and killed like scum."

"I can take care of myself," Duo smirked like the devil incarnate.

"By me." Wufei growled, tightening his grip, trying to impress his full meaning.

Something manic slipped into Duo's smile, "You can try."

Onyx eyes shifted to where he held Duo fast, then back to his face, arching a brow. The Chinese ex-pilot had just found him in less than a half hour, before he had even fully made his escape. Admittedly, it was mostly bluff. Once away, Duo had the entire Earth Sphere to hide in, but then Wufei would have the others and the entire resources of Preventers with which to find him. And Chang Wufei was renown for being dogged.

Then they were moving. Duo peeled his grip and struck. Wufei easily blocked the onslaught and closed to grapple. Water sprayed between them as they coursed through the motions. Fast and hard, but equally adept. Finally, Wufei managed to snare the American, locking his arms about him. Teeth sunk into flesh winning a startled cry of pain as the braided man broke free. With a savage growl, the Chinese ex-pilot swept the other's feet, driving Duo to his knees, and grabbed a fistful of hair.

Hollow violet glared up at him, "You going to beat me up to keep me here?"

For a long time, Wufei stood there. Breathing. Watching. His hand tangled in chestnut bangs, blood running down his forearm, diluting in the rain. And violet eyes watched right back from either side of a ruined nose. Finally, he let go and dropped his guard, "No."

Nothing but rain filled the world for long minutes. Neither moved as the chill crept slowly inside. Aching. Numbing. The sun was rapidly setting resplendent, deriding the storm and turmoil about them. It was one of the things to which Wufei would never acclimate, the character and flippancy of nature.

It was Duo's laughter that brought him back to the present, raucous and slightly maniacal. The braided man had let his legs folded beneath him, sitting on the soaked sidewalk. Noting onyx eyes on him, the American loosed a second volley, even louder and more discordant.

"Something humorous?"

Duo flagged a hand in a large, haphazard gesture at apparently everything immediately around the two of them, voice lost for the moment. The braided man sighed and sniffed, regaining some composure, "Why the Hell are you here?"

Wufei snorted at him, "Po. The book."

His braided friend stared blankly, but Wufei wasn't buying it.

"Your rambling notes on the forms. That poem," the Chinese man pressed, as though reminding the other of something obvious. "Leaving it in the house would have bought you more time."

Being critiqued apparently wasn't enough bait for the American, "I left something in it?"

"You may as well have painted 'farewell' across it," Wufei scowled quietly.

Duo stood, slow and languid, "Oh?"

The Chinese man arched a brow, "You never say goodbye, only assume it's implicit."

"So, you came to say goodbye," Duo smirked, lacking no enthusiasm.

"No," Wufei swallowed to wet his suddenly very dry throat, "I'm here to ask that you stay."

The smirk slid off the American's face sluggishly as they stared at each other. Violet eyes searched onyx and he growled out a sigh at what he found, wiping water from his face, "Hell. I am not doing this, again."

"Doing what?"

"This!" Duo once again gestured at the two of them, then turned to walk away, "Deja fucking vu. It's like Heero all over and we both know how that ended."

Wufei grabbed the other man's arm, "I'm not Yuy."

Violet eyes glanced at the restraint on his arm and back to Wufei's face, "Sure you're not."

"Because I love you?" It came out so much easier than he had expected. It flowed, dark and smooth, off his tongue and hung in the air about them.

Duo stared in utter disbelief, "Because you don't know what that means."

"I am wholly aware of what I'm saying," Wufei assured with his insurmountable calm. Being the fifth wheel of two same sex couples had piqued his curiosity eventually. He had always been more comfortable when he could at least claim to understand the goings on around him. Homosexuality was not as taboo as it once had been and his background in academia had afforded him a bit of reference on the idea, though in a less personal frame.

"I know you were married and I know about Po," Duo glared at him sourly, unconvinced.

"Obligation and tradition are difficult fetters to cast off." Marriage had been his duty and anything outside of it was superfluous. Meiran and Sally had seen through him. He loved them both for it; he could admit that now. He would always love them, but this was different. This was informed, chosen. Sought out and more than simply necessary. "This is real, Maxwell."

Something inside the braided man cracked, that smile slicing across his face, "What about when you called me Duo? Was that just a slip, the concussion talking? And a month ago? That was the liquor, right? Our first kiss? Fuck, 'Fei, we're already a damn train wreck!"

The Chinese man breathed to steady himself. They had apparently moved past friendship long ago, at least by Duo's reckoning. Ever observant and discerning Duo, sharp as his smile. The L2 urchin had flagged him early, seen him coming, and the teenaged terrorist hidden every wound, noted every graceless misstep. Wufei couldn't decide which was worse, his twinge of betrayal at being so readily judged or that his failure had been anticipated to the point of dismissal. Something flared in his chest, something primal that his logic shied from at first, "It's not that simple."

"It is," Duo snarked back, dangerous, "Because I am. I say what I damn well mean and it stays that way. If I don't mean it, I don't fucking say it. See, simple."

"Honesty and complexity are separate qualities," Wufei astutely refuted.

A harsh laugh grated from Duo's chest, "That sounded exactly like Heero. Fucking logic."

"You realize you just cursed all reason," the Chinese scholar noted dryly with a snort. Seeing the braided man's smile falter for a second he pushed a little further, "I suppose that's the only way to equate myself and Yuy."

"Oh sure. Not like you both don't bite off more than you can chew. Or contradict yourselves. Or flinch away. Not like you don't see me as something I've never been. And you certainly never cling to me because I'm the easy option," Duo's voice dropped off, having steadily grown quieter and more cruel the entire time. Violet eyes dipped once again to the hand holding his arm, then back up pointedly, "Let me go, Wufei."

Both hand and gaze held fast, "You're right, I don't."

"You stubborn-" Duo cut himself off and rolled his eyes, searching the rain for either more constructive words or more elaborate curses.

Wufei gently put a hand to the other's cheek and guided violet eyes back down to his, "Yuy's gone. Just like that man on L2."

It took a long beat before realization dawned in violet eyes, paired oddly with a frown, "What made you think I was the innocent in that story?"

Onyx scoured violet for anything else, any little scrap of meaning and found nothing.

Duo's cold, scarred and calloused hand fell over his own on the braided man's cheek and firmly removed it with a gruff sigh, "You want to know what happened."

He was aware of his hand still in the other's, but was transfixed on violet eyes. Wufei nodded.

"Fine, here's what happened. When we met, I shot him, then we jumped out of a building and he stole from me. I thought, knew, we were the same. He'd stolen his Gundam and gone against Operation M and thought he was going to die. So, we had something. It didn't mean anything and the only words between us were mine saying so, probably thought I was joking."

Silence crept into the edges around them, but kept a respectful distance. Wufei's mind was whirling, putting pieces into place. Duo had known Heero early in the war and considered him a kindred soul. A thief, a rebel, and more than a touch crazy. From Wufei's single encounter and other sources, that seemed to fit their fellow Japanese ex-pilot. At least, before Siberia.

Duo took a breath and continued, "Didn't matter because soon he blew himself up, ending it. And, months later, I was getting ready to bite it in some cell when his fucking ghost showed up. Except he wasn't a ghost and I can see it in his eyes over the damn gun. The choice he's making, right there. He was different and it set my teeth on edge, because it wasn't him. He wasn't... He got me out and fixed and safe as possible and it drove me nuts. Then the war was ending and I figured out how different he really was. But he still looked at me like a dog, with that utter loyalty, trust. Even when I... When the whole Mariemaia thing happened, well, I figured it was time. I left him with 'Lena, never expected him to just let himself waste like that. Preventers slammed us back together and I couldn't..."

Wufei kept himself carefully blank, but violet eyes had slipped to the ground somewhere in there and refused to look up again.

"When he proposed, it was that cell all over again. I could see the choice he was making, even as he asked a fucking question. I just gave him a truthful answer." The question was on the tip of Wufei's tongue when Duo cut him off, violet eyes burning into onyx without warning, "I told him to shoot me, to put one right between my eyes. Even gave him a gun and put it to my head and laughed at him."

How long they stood there, letting that settle in the rain and the dark and the quiet, was impossible to tell. The rain stopped. Duo was grinning and shivering, violet eyes serious and tired. Wufei stared and breathed. He thought of every scar, every wound. He remembered every motion, every laugh, every smile, every sacrifice. They each had expectations the others didn't always live up to. Quatre expected people to listen. Trowa expected to be surprised. Heero expected them to be strong. Wufei, himself, expected a certain level of intelligence. Duo, however, expected nothing. In the worst possible way. He gave absurdly and accepted gratefully, to a point. To the point where it compromised someone, changed them. To the point of vulnerability. The Chinese man squeezed the hand still holding his, "Idiot."

"Don't," the American growled, pulling away again.

Before he had even moved, a hand had snaked behind his neck and brought him back to lips on lips, mingled breaths steaming in the night. Duo's face was wet and salty. Tears in the rain, Wufei realized just before a tongue grazed his own. It was short and tentative and left them breathless, huddled together, foreheads touching. Onyx peered into hollow violet, "Live with me, Duo."

The braided man choked on a laugh, "Dammit, 'Fei, weren't you listening?"

"I was." Wufei smirked, "Weren't you? I said live with me. Not marry, not stay. Live."

Duo blinked at him, "And that's enough?"

"All life is a manifestation of the spirit, the manifestation of love."

"...I can't."

Without a word, the Chinese man straightened and finally relinquished his hold. The American stood, eying the other for long careful moments before turning.

"I die."

The low, silky admission stopped the braided ex-pilot. Duo stayed perfectly still, "What?"

"In my nightmares. I die. Painfully. Alone." Just the memories made his voice thick, husky. Making him bite out each word with care. Sent a chill down his spine. Part of him was glad he was speaking to Duo's back. Wufei wasn't entirely sure he could actually say this to the man's face, "I died every night for three years."

"So?" There was a hesitance, waiting for an explanation, relevancy. Needing it.

Wufei sighed lightly, looking to the clear horizon, "It's better with you."

"It didn't stop," Duo reminded.

He was right, though Wufei had realized it mostly happened when he thought about Duo leaving. Yet that didn't matter. The pain, the fear, the shame. None of it mattered for one simple reason. "I wasn't alone."

That made Duo turn back. Just turn and look at him. The cool night breeze howled through drenched clothes. Stars were peeking through in the clearing sky. The bus screeched up to the stop behind them. It would be there for ten minutes.

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**Gilly****Wrist** – I'm sorry you came in so late, but sincerely hope you enjoyed the rest of the story. More in depth reviews are always welcome. Thank you for your time and very kind words.

**Fairy5706green** – I have difficulty with the idea of separating the war from the boys. It's such a major part of each of their characters, in different ways, that ignoring it always feels false. Thanks again for sharing!

**In2lalaland** – Here's where it was going. What do you think? I'd agree that Wufei is braver, but it's a tougher call than I first thought.

**Semjaza** – Thank you very much! I hope this was up to expectations.

**Aurora****Musis****Amica** – Oh good. It's always lovely to hear that things came out well. You have no idea how long I worried over this chapter. Thanks!

**Thank you kindly to everyone that read, enjoyed, favorited, and watched!**


	10. Coda

**Fortnight**

**Coda**

by APs

**Betas:** None. I wanted this to be a surprise, even for them, so this is all my fault!

**A/N: ** Happy **TWO YEAR** anniversary! Here's the deal: there are three epilogues here. That's right, _three._ You can pick whichever one you like best and ignore the other ones, or mix and match, but they are all hypothetically possible from where I ended. No, I am still not giving any straight answers. Their titles tell you the pairings and they are not from Wufei's POV. Please read them before you groan.

Hopefully you'll read and enjoy! I would love to hear from everyone and I will be replying via PM from now on. Thank you everyone: Alerters, Watchers, and Reviewers alike! You are all awesome.

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**I: 5 Months, 2 Weeks**

The car was still running, hell, still skidding to a stop, when Duo Maxwell burst from it. The quiet, familiar neighborhood was awash with flashing lights and noise. Bad noise. That muted noise you only get after the fact, when all that's left is the cleaning. An ambulance screamed away as he flashed his badge at the locals, hoping they wouldn't check his clearance and knowing it didn't matter. He had every right to be there. The only van left outside the house was the coroner.

He jogged up the front walkway. The door was open, hanging crooked from the bottom hinge, but everything else was so normal. So familiar. For a second as he crossed the threshold, a bombed out church flashed before his eyes. He smelled burnt flesh and blood; his stomach rolled. Inside was the same, but so different. The tidy house was cold and exposed and ruined. The coffee table was broken, the couch cushions missing, a window in the back broken, the carpet tracked with dirt. He let it all roll off him and followed the hushed activity toward the back. Past the bathroom and the guest room to the last room.

The scent of blood hit him again, real this time and he stopped. The door was open, he could hear murmurs and see motion, but the act of walking into that room was suddenly very hard. The air was thin with disturbance, sweat cold on his skin. Whatever had happened, he was too late. Too late to even say goodbye this time.

His back found the wall, an old friend from early mornings of many sleepless nights. The hallway was too, too bright. Every light in the house was on. That never happened. Everything was so stark and alien. It made his skin crawl, his scars felt tight, like fingers grasping all over his body. He couldn't breath, but never stopped, automatic and impossible. He wondered if he would throw up and knew he wouldn't, which just made it worse somehow.

Time washed over him unmarked, until two men wheeled a gurney from the room beside him. They didn't look at him and he returned the favor, though that was more because the long, slim black bag was occupying his entire world. It was sleek, plastic, and black as sin, looking to swallow souls. It reminded him of oblivion, of space; not empty, but sure as hell not full. His mind was taking measure of the prone silhouette, gathering data that was useless until he started thinking again. He wanted to pounce on the gurney, claim it, to fight off the two men like the vultures they were, take that bag and rip it open, away, apart. He didn't move a muscle. The detective trailing the gurney eyed him, hard. He tossed the man one of his biggest smiles, haphazard and jagged. The detective, who looked like a Joe, glared at the badge he'd forgotten was still in his hand and continued on his way, only slightly faster. Which was good as he wasn't entirely sure his mouth would have worked for anything else.

He focused on breathing, on the sound of the gurney as even that faded. The wall across the way burned into his eyes, abstracted, blurred. He wished it was raining, or snowing, or burning, or anything. Anything except this placid normalcy. He choked and let himself slide down the rough wall to the floor. Not this. Not again. He clutched his knees close, resting his head on them, eyes wide and unseeing. Not another acceptable tragedy. Not another statistic. Not another loss the world wouldn't even notice. Not him...

He wanted the world to crack apart, the sky to fall. He wanted chaos and fury. Something. Anything to mark this. And he knew it didn't work like that. His chosen God was fickle and ubiquitous. Few knew that better than Duo Maxwell. The clear night, the bright lights, the simple quiet, the soft carpet, the faint smell of tea and blood, the oxygen that kept inexplicably filling his lungs, the cops walking, the gurney wheeling, the world turning. Everything mocked him, mocked the end by sheer blind continuance. He fisted both hands in his bangs and pulled, shaking. His rock, his stability, his world. Gone. Again. And that was what he got. A smirk cut deep across his face and started bleeding laughter. Choked and small and not a little crazy. That was what he got for ignoring the inevitable, forsaking his God. For thinking he could have a rock, a world. For grasping at the illusion. Stupid. He laughed. Idiot.

"Something humorous?" The voice was low and smooth and cool, like silk brushed over skin. It trailed goosebumps.

The laughter clotted in his throat and he blinked at his legs. Either he had really, truly cracked or... He couldn't look up, breathe, move. It would be confirmation and his existence rested solely on that uncertainty. He pulled his bangs harder, bit his lip. The pain countering the silence.

"Maxwell?" There was a slight crispness to the grunt.

His head snapped up, craning to land disbelieving violet eyes on the figure leaning in the doorway to that last room, scowling down at him. Duo blinked, panicked; this must be what insanity felt like. But, no. A demon of his broken mind wouldn't have called him that, wouldn't have that worry dancing around the edge of his frown. Probably. Maybe his insanity was just really fucking good. Maybe that was just insanity for you.

The other man slowly, carefully squatted down to Duo's level, a single altogether too gentle hand brushing bangs from his eyes and resting lightly on his shoulder. Dark eyes devoured his shocked gaze with calm. The word that dropped from those lips was quiet and knowing, "Duo..."

"...'Fei." And he didn't care if he was crazy or not. It sounded like Wufei. Duo spun on his heels, took the other into his arms and held on for all he was worth. It looked like Wufei. Lean muscles flexed to keep them balanced with stupid ease, ignoring the awkward grip and position. It felt like Wufei. Finally inhaling, soap and tea and paper and earth flooded his brain. It even smelled like Wufei. If it wasn't the Chinese man and he was still curled up in the hall, drooling and gibbering at himself, Duo didn't care. He wasn't letting go. Not this time.

It took phantom Wufei less time than he would have thought to relax, tension draining as arms returned the embrace, leaning into it. That silken voice found his ear, "It's fine. I'm fine."

A laugh clawed its way violently out of his chest, but he didn't say anything. It was a lie. None of them were 'fine'. Hell, he was clinging to the hallucination of another grown man like some damn security blanket. But it wasn't nice to point out the lies of others, even if they were possibly hallucinatory. Perhaps especially. It was not nice enough to point it out to himself.

"Why are you here? I thought you were surveilling tonight."

Finally, something he could answer. Something simple. "I heard the address on the scanner." It was an old habit, tapping the local police bands on his portable and pretending it was some sort of loud, obnoxious music. He'd never been caught, because nobody thought twice about the goofy guy crooning to himself with earphones in. Sometimes, the old habits were the only things that kept him together. Sometimes they led to this. A call for back up, the coroner, and homicide to an all too familiar address. He forced his brain forward, "Next thing I know, here I am."

Fake Wufei snorted rather convincingly, "You thought I was dead."

Technically, he still did. He'd heard the call and just known. It made so much sense, was so obvious. In an odd way, he'd been expecting it for months. Ever since he hadn't run. Ever since he'd attempted to keep something of himself, for himself. He'd been waiting for the inevitable, the inescapable. This insanity could be either gift or punishment from his God, inscrutable and harsh as ever. It didn't matter, the result would be the same. Acknowledging it would do nothing, so he went to the simple, easy things, "What happened?"

"A local gang decided to rob me. They only brought six." There was that dryness, marking Wufei's tiny smirk, no doubt. Of course, the Chinese man would find that funny. What wasn't funny about six morons attempting to rob a single ex-Gundam pilot?

Oh, right: the fucking dead guy. "And?"

He felt Wufei sigh, but didn't hear it. When he finally spoke, the tone was that cool, even one Duo always equated to an iceberg. Cold, sheer, and hiding most of itself under calm waters, "Their leader surprised me with a knife, so I obligingly stabbed him with it... in self-defense."

Duo turned his head to finally look at the mess inside the room only to find none. The sparse furniture and ornamentation were seemingly untouched and even the slight clutter on the dresser seemed mundane, casual. The only sign of violence was the large, dark spot on the carpet, glistening evilly in all the damn light. It was not the scene of a life or death struggle. Duo knew what that looked like and it wasn't this. A gang member with a knife was no real threat to any of them, much less Master Chang Wufei, sword enthusiast. A grin carved its way across his face, "Self-defense, huh?"

Silence circled them slowly. Like buzzards. Wufei's hold slackened, his voice soft even with their closeness, "They had been watching the house for some time. He threatened the others, you, and... I killed him."

"You killed to protect me?" It bit without sinking its teeth in too deep. He pulled back enough to look the other man in the face.

Wufei let him go, but clung to his hands like a lifeline, onyx eyes cast down, exhausted, "He was intent on blood, so I gave it to him."

"How heroic."

That brought dark, abysmal eyes to his and a broken, angry snarl, "Don't be a fucking idiot."

And just like that, Wufei was very real again. Solid and living and true. Psychoses didn't feel. Only flesh and bone bled. Only Wufei could get pissed off about casually killing someone. Or rather, about being guilty for killing someone out of fear. Only Wufei would be so deeply disturbed by a threat to his clan. Only Wufei could look so sick and act so calm. Only Wufei... He let the grin drain from his lips like pus from a wound, leaving his face lax and sore, but better for it. "I don't think I've ever heard you cuss like that before."

"Duo," that silk raised goosebumps again as dark eyes softened with warmth. Embers smouldering deep within coals. "I'm sorry."

It was said without expectation or necessity. It wasn't just to trip a response. It wasn't a plea and it was no where near pity. It wasn't just for now. It was for everything. Everything he was and would and could be sorry for; maybe even some things he couldn't. For all the times it had gone unsaid, ever. It was strong and warm and painfully humble. It was one damaged soul acknowledging another. More than anything, it was true.

Duo wanted to make a joke, to lighten the mood, break the tension, but there was no tension to break. His smile wouldn't come. They were both breathing slow and deep. The lights were too damn bright and the cold was getting worse. He watched the man watching him and for once the silence didn't itch. His hands rested on Wufei's neck, bringing their lips together as he counted heartbeats. Slow and soft and tender like he'd never imagined a kiss. It murmured of the reality of the moment and didn't ask more. Of loss and life and the uncertainty in which it all existed.

Without another word, Duo stood, still entangled in Wufei, and steered them toward the guest room. His room. Where it was dark and warm and quiet and safe. Tomorrow they might fix the door, the house. Tomorrow they might talk. Tomorrow Wufei might promise to use the fucking security system. But tonight they were alive and together and uncertain. Uncertain of the inevitable and a little insane. Wufei leaned into his back as he undid the traps on his door. Sharing space, warmth, experience. Duo smiled and it didn't hurt. What a novel change.

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**II: 1 Year, 2 Months, 5 Days**

Heero sipped his tea. It was hot and strong without being scalding or bitter. It spoke highly of Wufei. Even though he'd watched Duo brew the pot, Wufei's small glances and tilts of the head had not escaped Heero. Nor had Duo's easy compliance with unspoken expectations. Now they were all at Wufei's kitchen island, him on an end and them together on a longer side, waiting for Quatre and Trowa. Wufei was center, maintaining control. Duo was, had been, talking. Incessantly.

The two were seated together, but proximity belied intimacy. They did not touch. They did not look at each other. Wufei sat highly erect and Duo... Duo had that slightly manic gleam to his eyes. He never hesitated, but there was a longing to the braided man's motion. He lingered, yearning for contacted, but restraining himself. For his part, Heero sipped his tea and stared, carefully gauging.

The phone ringing brought abrupt silence and two sharp, blue stares to Wufei. To his credit, the Chinese man rose and answered calmly, "Chang."

"Hello, Wufei," the tinny voice held a forced pleasantry only Quatre ever bothered trying.

"Hey, Q!" Duo shouted from where he sat.

"Winner," Wufei acknowledged coolly, "I take it you're not coming."

"How did you- I mean, yes. Or rather no, it looks like Trowa and myself won't be able to make it tonight," the blond stumbled out rapidly. Why he should even act surprised by the conclusion when the couple was already half an hour late was beyond Heero. Duo groaned in the background as Quatre continued to explain, "We've both been working triple shifts running scenarios for the conference next week and there's still so much to do."

Wufei smirked as he waited for his turn to speak, "It's fine, Quatre."

"You're sure?" The easy warmth of a smile was evident even through the thick worry.

"It's fine." To his credit, Wufei did growl, snap, or bark. "We'll reschedule."

"Of course," Quatre pounced on the suggestion before hurrying forward, "Be sure to give Heero our best and our apologies."

"Yeah, yeah," Duo waved a hand in lazy dismissal, "Lay one on Tro for us!"

For a heartbeat, all was silence followed abruptly by light chuckles from the speakers. "Good evening, then."

Oddly, Wufei merely nodded after a curt grunt and terminated the connection. He started back, his voice dry, "Winner and Barton send their best, but regretfully must reschedule.

Heero nodded, taking a last sip of tea and standing.

"Thanks, Fei," Duo drawled even as violet eyes cut into the Japanese man. Just as he was about to walk away, the familiar low, carefully lazy growl stopped him, "Hey. When was the last time you ate? You know, a real meal?"

That had been the first time the braided man had directly addressed him all night. And it had been as 'hey'. Blue eyes burned defiantly against violet.

"Well, Yuy?" Wufei flanked, scowling slightly as dark eyes evaluated more keenly.

He glared against being cornered. The fact that he had been on travel rations was no secret. That he had been busy for the four and a half days since was common knowledge as well. Whether or not he had... been hungry today or the day before was not important.

Duo barked a twisted laugh, "Sit down and we'll make something."

Heero didn't move, blue eyes darting to onyx.

"Sit," Wufei grunted and watched him do so before moving to help with the cooking. They maneuvered about each other easily, yet not in harmony. Wufei's strong, sure motion didn't mesh with Duo's manic, boneless speed. They didn't share the small brushes and unconscious precision Heero remembered once having himself. Before long they each had a bowl of soup accompanied by various other quick food options including fruit, sandwiches, and cold pizza. He stared at his bowl and the others stared at him, refusing to continue, speak, or breath until he put the first spoonful into his mouth. Complying mechanically, Heero kept his intake slow, but it seemed to satisfy the unspecified requirements.

He could feel dark eyes heavy on him, "How was the tour?"

"Yeah," Duo smirked harshly, "how was Mars?"

"Red." He didn't look up from his soup. He'd been filing reports about the tour for days. If they really wanted to know, they could read them.

"And Relena?" The grin was cold and sharp on the question.

His spoon hit the counter as Heero glared full force, "Blonde."

Wufei was pinching the bridge of his nose, "Both of you, eat."

Harsh blue glare continued to clash against the relentless grin for a weightless, hanging moment before violet eyes slid casually back to food. That glare flickered thoughtfully over Wufei, catching dark eyes and the arch of a brow. Every line of the Chinese man's body snarled frustration. Old, compounded frustration. Heero tilted his head, near imperceptibly. Concerned. It made Wufei blink, then scowl. He was about to bull through that particular stubborn streak when a sharp crack of laughter, for lack of an angrier, sharper word, interrupted.

"Guns kill better than glares, guys." Duo straightened under the sudden blue-black scrutiny and laughed again, "Granted, not by much, but hell if I ain't living proof."

"Maxwell." Wufei let it trail, softening the check with exasperation.

The flash of hurt in violet eyes was unbelievable, real, and instantly gone, covered by a shrug, "Not for lack of trying."

Heero swallowed, but refused to look away.

Duo coughed up another harsh, mocking sound, "You should have just shot me."

With a dismissive snort, blue eyes dropped back to his bowl. The braided man's shock was obvious in the silence. There was some scuffling and a snort, then the only sounds were those of soup consumption. Routine, easy.

A spoon clattered to the floor, "You've said two words all fucking night and I damn well know that's not it, so just spit it out already, Heero Yuy!"

Both of the were waiting, so he stared back, "The two of you are not... together."

"We're not birds, either," Duo dodged.

Wufei, though, took a deep settling breath as he went to clear things away, "No. We're not."

Again that hurt, equally unmistakable and brief, before being lost in a growl, "Not that it's any of your business."

Onyx eye were dull and elsewhere, leaving Heero a direct line to Duo. He knew the facts; Sally had filled him in, kept him abreast. The American had vanished after the combined going away party without so much as a word. "You ran."

"That's me," Duo cheered darkly, a grin slowly splitting his face, "May run. It's in my introduction."

Heero nodded. He'd accepted that. The running. "You came back."

"Nobody came looking." Duo smirked stiffly, the words hanging in the stillness about them.

It was Wufei's low, even tone that broke through, the Chinese man turning back from the refrigerator, "Listening to the two of you talk is like watching Russian Roulette played with a full cylinder."

Dark eyes told him this wasn't going anywhere good and he could only agree. Of course, that had never swayed his course of action before, "You're a coward, Chang."

That managed to get a fire lit in onyx eyes, a hot warning spark, "Don't, Yuy."

"Hey," Duo attempted to break in, "your preferred punching bag is over here, remember."

Blue eyes flinched, but kept true, "You still haven't told him."

"Told me what?" Duo scrambled a little.

A dark scowl insisted that the American already knew, but deep blue eyes pushed him hard.

"Don't expect me to propose," Wufei finally sneered.

Duo had bolted to his feet like his stool had been electrified, "What!"

"No," Heero bit back a little harder and slower, maintaining control, "I expected more."

"What?" It was softer, Duo effectively lost now.

Wufei raised his head, and crossed his arms, "You expect me to actually shoot him?"

In a flash, he was on his feet, towering over Wufei, yet pinned by onyx. This was familiar, the tension strung between them. He took another long slow breath, "I expect you to tell him how you bought his time on L2. What you sold."

Dark eyes gaped as nostrils flared in rage to cover the flush mounting in his face. Duo had gone suddenly silent beside them, waiting. They were all waiting. Finally, Wufei found his voice, "You want me to admit that I accepted a job from Une that included occasional solo missions. Fine..."

Heero wagged his head, blue eyes expectant. When onyx stared coldly back, he opened his mouth to finish the truth.

"You want me to tell him that I lied and beg and finally hocked myself to Une simply to buy his freedom. You want me to say that I've had twenty dark solo missions, five off the books, and one assassination to date while also partnering him. That I quit because the blood and rage and rush was killing me, but I went back..." The Chinese man struggled against his own body, sheer will keeping him head up and voice clear. Onyx eyes latched onto blue, blocking everything else out.

"...Fei." Duo's voice was a low whisper.

"There. It is said. Get out of my house."

Faster than thought, Heero lunged, crushing his lips to Wufei's. In the distant silence, he heard the twisted hunk of metal that had been the spoon in his hand tink as it hit the floor. The world simply stopped in a silent, honest touch.

Heero broke away and turned without looking back straight into Duo, wide eyed and struck speechless for once. Carefully, he leaned in and brushed his lips over the crooked bridge of Duo's nose, making shocked violet eyes cross. He murmured as he passed, "I'm sorry I was never perfect."

"I never wanted perfect." Duo fired at his back, stalling him long enough for the braided man to grab hold of his wrist. Grabbing for a pistol that wasn't there, he glanced back into one of Duo's tired, ragged smiles and knew it was true. Knew from the early war when he had been broken and scrambling and laughing over the din of battle. "Could never trust it. Why aren't you with Lena?"

"He's in love with you," Wufei answered, still in the same spot and vaguely stunned. Blue burned against onyx for a long, plain minute before he caught on, "...Us."

Duo snickered, tapping the side of his broken nose, "Maybe he just doesn't trust perfect, either."

"I'm taking some of Wufei's mission load tomorrow." It did nothing to deny either of the previous statements. He peeled off Duo's hand gently from his wrist and lingered only a heartbeat holding it before turning to leave.

The calm levelness had returned to Wufei's voice in that heartbeat, "Where are you staying?"

"Barracks," he grunted at the door, refusing to turn. Most of his belongings were in storage until he found a new apartment. "For now."

"Tsk. No way, stay here," Duo drawled.

Heero turned on pure surprise. "I can't."

"You can," Wufei assured. "You can take my bed. I'll use the couch."

Heero began to speak, but the smile on Duo's face and the calm in onyx eyes stopped him. He nodded and headed toward the back rooms.

Before he left he heard Duo ask with laughing fear only he could manage, "Why didn't you just kick me out of the guest room, Fei?"

He paused in the doorway for Wufei's answer. It came slow and soft as rain in the night. "Because you live here and he looks tired... Because..."

"Because I came back?" I was tiny and dower, no smile, but hope.

"Because you came back, Duo." And there was no smile there either, but contentment.

**i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i**

**III: Lustre (Five years hence)**

The day was bright and bold and beautiful, almost as much as the tiny angel running through the field that spread out before us, seemingly endless. Beside me sat what would normally be the dark and stormy cloud of curmudgeon which was the calm, sturdy presence of my best friend, Chang Wufei. The scowl wasn't present, though the lines were still obvious and his dark eyes cast serenely out over the expanse. Whether those eyes were seeing the patchy weed-flowered field of the present or some long lost memory didn't matter as much as the placidity it was inspiring.

I was on Mars for a tour. He had transferred years ago as a Trainer. Now he was Head of Preventer Field Training. He never could stand the ineffective. I had dragged him from the office, and the torture of various rookies, for the afternoon. The little girl had been a surprise. Sally had preceded us all, having jumped at the chance to head the first hospital on the Mars surface, even against all suggestions. Stopping a pregnant Sally Po had proved as useless as declining one of the little girl's quiet requests.

The wind rustled my bangs, making shadows flash across my eyes. Quatre would have loved this. This new growth, this hope. He was probably in a meeting, but I prayed he could feel this, even a little. The smile that would trace his lips would be just as miraculous. Heero was too busy dodging bullets and keeping tabs on Relena, but the Princess would appreciated the scene. Duo... I would like to think Duo would have seen past the weeds. It was hard enough for me, though, sometimes. I still liked to think he'd found some peace in that cassock.

The girl ran up to us, offering each a tiny blue flower, a gravity in her eyes that only youth could afford. If I had to put a shade to them, I'd say deep cobalt. Luckily, I didn't have to. She was her mother's daughter and that gave me hope of this and any other world we may find.

Beside me, Chang Wufei didn't smile, but accepted the bloom with an easy thanks. The girl beamed. On second thought, I wanted Quatre to feel _this._ Less than perfect, but living.

**i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i**

**Again, THANK YOU ALL SO VERY MUCH! I will be replying to everyone from last chapter onward in PM. You've all been amazing!**


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